


To Capture a King

by breakingfiction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Multi, Quidditch, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingfiction/pseuds/breakingfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>There's not much that I regret in life.<br/>But falling in love with James Sirius Potter?<br/>Now that... I may have some reservations about.</p>
  <p>
    <i>a plan gone wrong, an insufferable Captain and a Beater with no clue</i>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love and Bludgers

“Scamander!”  
  
I pull my broom to an abrupt halt – a blast of cool air roaring past my face as I do so, sending my blonde hair into a wild frenzy as it whips around my shoulders. With one glove-cladded hand I push the few strands of hair that have come loose from my pony-tail out of my eyes. In the other I loosely hold my shabby, old bat, which I had just used to send a rogue Bludger hurling through the air towards my _wanker_ of a Captain.  
  
My eyes narrow into furious slits of blue as James Potter pulls his own broom up in front of me, clutching his left arm rather dramatically.  
  
I scoff. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it, really.  
  
There I was, innocently practicing my swing technique when James – pompous idiot he is – threatens that if I don’t improve my aim by next week’s game he’ll tell my older brother, Lysander, how I got drunk over summer break and snogged Fred Weasley.  
  
And by _threatens_ I mean that he yelled across the entire pitch, so that not only Lysander but the rest of the entire, sodding Gryffindor Quidditch team found out about my – not entirely innocent – summer endeavours.  
  
Well, I guess my aims not so bad now huh, Cappy?  
  
“Are you out of your _freaking_ mind?” James demands, his black hair an outrageous, tousled mess as he balances expertly on his Nimbus Platinum. “You could’ve knocked me off my bloody broom!”  
  
“Remind me why that would be such a bad thing?” I snap in aggravation, waving my bat in front of me in what I hope is a menacing fashion and scanning around the rest of the team for any back up that they might be willing to provide me with.  
  
This, of course, proves completely useless because now my team mates are so disgusted with me that they’re all shooting me dirty looks and uttering strings of profanities under their breaths. I guess I can’t blame them, really. I mean because of the fact that half of our team is actually _related_ to Fred Weasley.  
  
Excluding me, of course. Jeez, I’m not some kind of sick pervert who goes around snogging members of my own family or anything.  
  
Lysander, who’s hovering in front of one of the goal posts at the other end of the Pitch, is sending me death glares and making gestures with his hands that I’m about to lose my head.  
  
I ignore him. James and Lysander have been best friends since they were young, and they’re absolute terrors together. Sometimes I think Lysander fancies it his sole purpose in life to make mine a living nightmare.  
  
James let’s out an exasperated sigh, ignoring my previous question and letting his hazel eyes roll back dejectedly.  
  
“Lyra, my little Salamander – why do you enjoy being so difficult? I’m your _Captain_. So that means if I tell you you’re doing a _shitty_ job on the Pitch, then you better bloody well start shaping up.” He furrows his dark eyebrows menacingly, “Or else.”  
  
“Or else what, _Captain_?” I ask, spitting the title dispassionately. “You’ll start shouting my personal life across the Pitch like a freaking Howler?”  
  
James throws me a careless grin, the bruise on his arm apparently forgotten for the moment. “Something like that.”  
  
“You are the worst Captain, _ever_!” I let out a shriek of frustration, drawing back my bat with the idea to smack the arrogant smirk clean off his face. That is until with a whoosh of air, a dark haired girl rears her broom up between the two of ours, her dark hair, styled in a long braid, swinging over her shoulder fiercely and her hazel eyes burning into me from under a pair of raised eyebrows.  
  
“Would you two _quit_ it already,” She snaps, clearly annoyed. “Let’s just finish this practice before class starts, yeah?”  
  
Roxanne Weasley – ever the mediator. It doesn’t help that’s she’s a psychotic wench who will gladly smack the living daylights out of anyone who pisses her off. She gets it from her mum, Angie, I swear.  
  
Roxanne, aside from being one of my best friends, is the other Beater in our happy little team, making Gryffindor the first team ever at Hogwarts to have two female Beaters.  
  
I love her, really. Though maybe not right at this moment.  
  
She waves her bat between the two of us – something in her eyes saying that if we don’t back off there will be hell to pay.  
  
James rolls his eyes at his cousin before narrowing them at me and regaining his composure. “Do it again, Lyra, and I’ll have you running laps.” He barks, and for a moment I wonder if he means assaulting him with a Bludger, or snogging Fred. “And take that goddamn piece of junk off from around your neck. I’ve already warned you about wearing it on the Pitch.”  
  
And then he just flies off, leaving me scowling after him like a kid who’s had her candy taken off of her. I finger the necklace that hangs around my neck, the piece of _junk_ he had called it. I suppose it does look sort of strange. It’s a cluster of Muggle bottle caps that my Grandfather, Xenophilius, had given to me over the summer. He said that it would help to ward off Frosthoppers, because they had a fear of anything Muggle.  
  
I don’t know what a Frosthopper is exactly – or even if they actually _exist_. But no way in hell am I taking any chances.  
  
Besides, it makes Grandpa happy to know that I wear it, and it’s not like I’ve never seen James do anything just because it made _his_ Grandfather happy. I’ve seen him in the garden shed with Arthur, many times tinkering with toasters, or whatever the hell it is that they do out there.  
  
I tuck the necklace inside my tank top before turning to meet Roxanne’s raised eyebrows.  
  
“Please tell me you did _not_ snog my brother.” She clicks her tongue and waves her bat in my face crossly.  
  
 “Merlin, it was a dare, alright!” I explain in frustration – silently vowing to murder James Potter in his sleep for letting word of this get out. How the hell had he found out about it anyway? The only people who even know about it are of course me and Fred – and the one who had designated the dare in the first place.  
  
And Roxanne knows all too well that I _never_ back down from a dare. Well, not one that isn’t going to kill me anyway. And let’s face it – playing tongue hockey with Fred Weasley isn’t exactly a life threatening situation.  
  
In fact, it was kind of nice. Well, that’s what I’d been thinking anyway until I saw the way that Roxanne was scowling at me. After that I thought maybe it wasn’t so nice if I had to deal with the butt-kicking that the scowl entailed.  
  
“And who would dare you to do something as disgusting as that?” Roxanne asks, which I think is a bit harsh of her. I mean, Fred isn’t exactly a troll. Before this year he had been the Captain of our team, and did a bloody good job of it too. More so than our current Captain, anyway.  
  
I don’t even have to answer for Roxanne to know who the culprit is, however. She only has to follow my narrowed eyes to the messy, black-haired boy who has taken advantage of the Captain’s momentary distraction to lay sprawled on the dry, patchy grass of the Pitch below.  
  
Albus Potter – Frenemy Extraordinaire. He shoots a wink once he notices me and Roxy both glaring down at him and I growl lowly under my breath – scheming all the possible ways that I can maim him. That is until James’ barks at the two of us. “Roxy, Lyra – get your lazy arses back into formation!”  
  
I resist the urge to hurl another Bludger his way, and with a forced calmness, Roxanne and I go back to practicing our drills.  
  
It’s not like I don’t understand that our first match of the season is in less than a week and because it’s James’ first year as Captain he’s desperate to win the Quidditch Cup and do his parents proud and all that crap.  
  
But his constant, big-headed attitude is beginning to give me one _hell_ of a headache. I’m a bloody good Beater, and he knows it. His problem is that he’s too stubborn to admit it.  
  
Maybe I should have thought about snogging Fred before summer break. Then he might have made me – the only player on the team who actually _deserves_ the position – Captain, instead of dung-for-brains Potter.  
  
Not that there wasn’t any reason that he shouldn’t have left the position to me without me actually having to use my feminine wiles on him anyway.  
  
After another half hour of Roxy and I batting Bludgers at one another, James finally dismisses us from practice. I touch down on the ground with a light step, and swing my broom onto my shoulder, grumbling as I do so.  
  
“Maybe next time I should aim for his head. Whack some sense into that thick skull of his.” I say, waving my bat in front of me and mimicking it smacking into James’ head.  
  
“With that arm, you’d most likely kill him. And then where would we be?” Remarks the mousy-haired girl to my left, the third piece of our happy little trio and my other best friend.  
  
Pippa Bell – the sensible one. Taking after her Aunt, Katie, she’s a wicked fast Chaser, and always the one to calm the storm of female emotions that is Roxy and I.  
  
“I know where _I’d_ be.” I answer Pippa with renewed enthusiasm. “I’d be Captain of this bloody team.”  
  
Roxanne scoffs darkly at me. “For Merlin’s sake, are you still going on about that?”  
  
“Yes I’m still going on about that, you slag!” I counter in exasperation, pointing my bat at her accusingly. “And _you_ should be supporting me.”  
  
I don’t hear Roxanne’s reply, however, as a rough shove from behind me almost sends me tumbling face first towards the ground.  
  
“Oi, you.” Lysander addresses me gruffly.  
  
Oh, that’s real nice, you prat. I _do_ actually have a name.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing, _sneaking_ around with Freddie?”  
  
“Jeez, calm down, will you? It’s not like I’m going to marry the guy,” I say, and Lysander scowls at me as if the very thought of that is offensive. “Besides, it’s not actually any of _your_ business.”  
  
I can’t help but notice Pippa, who’s practically wetting herself at the fact that Lysander’s walking beside her. Half the girls at Hogwarts act this way around him, it’s disgusting really. If I had actually had the chance to eat lunch today I would vomit. On Pippa’s Quidditch boots, just for good measure.  
  
“Of course it’s my business, the guys two years older then you!”  
  
“Oh, you’re worried about age now, are you? That’s funny, I don’t remember you caring so much when you hooked up with that bint in Paris last Easter. How old was she? Like, forty?”  
  
To say that Lysander looked horrified would be the understatement of the century, and I feel a small burst of satisfaction at the sight. He narrows his sapphire eyes at me.  
  
“She was twenty-four! And how do you know about that?”  
  
“I know everything you get up to, buddy! I’m always watching.” I say, motioning from my eyes to his. Menacingly, I hoped.  
  
Lysander stalks off, running a hand through his fair hair exasperatedly and muttering under his breath about nosey sisters.  
  
Roxanne raises an inquisitive eyebrow at me.  
  
“Do you really know everything he gets up to?”  
  
“Not at all.”  
  
“Thank Merlin for that.”  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
“ _I’d_ like to know everything he gets up to.”  
  
“Shut it, Pip.”  
  
I scowl after my brother. It was actually his twin, Lorcan, who had told me about the whole Paris thing.  
  
Lorcan, although identical to Lysander, couldn’t be more different in nature. He’s in Ravenclaw, and everyone says he’s just like our Mum, Luna. When he isn’t giving some incredibly boring speech about a new species that had been discovered, he’s actually somewhat tolerable. At least he doesn’t have the gall to treat me like I’m five years old.  
  
Lysander and I are more like our father, Rolf, I’ve been told, who had been a Gryffindor during his time at Hogwarts. Everyone seems to think that the reason we’re so often at each other’s throats is because we’re so alike.  
  
But I like to think it’s because he’s a complete and utter _prat_.  
  
I mean, Lysander Scamander? How lame is it to have a name that actually rhymes. I have taken it upon myself to remind him of this fact every chance I get. Unfortunately for me, however, the female population at Hogwarts seem to think that it makes him sound like some kind of rock star.  
  
_Idiots._  
  
I bustle into the damp locker room, which is alive with moans and groans from the rest of the team, in pain and utterly exhausted from the non-stop practices we’ve had this week. Except James, of course, who’s threatening that if we don’t shut up and stop complaining – he’ll double them.  
  
I swear if we don’t win this game next week, we’re dead as doorknobs. Or is that doornails? Oh, I don’t know. Either way, we’ll be goners.  
  
The girls side of the locker room, separated from the boys by a thick, concrete wall – is already strewn with Quidditch gear and various articles of clothing, as everybody rushes to nab a shower and soak their aching muscles.  
  
I step under a shower head and turn it to somewhere around scorching, letting myself fall into a weary daze as the water streams down my skin, soothing both my body and mind. A short while later I vaguely hear Pippa and Roxy through the streams of water, telling me to get my arse moving, but I ignore them  
  
I step out of the shower, throw my uniform on and braid my damp hair to the side, painfully aware of the gurgling void that is my stomach. It isn’t until I notice that I’m the only one left standing shivering and wet in the locker room that I realise I’m _totally_ late for class.  
  
***  
  
 “Oi, Scamander – let me borrow your quill.”  
  
My eyes narrow darkly – my foot, clad in a clean, white sock, taps against the wooden table leg in front of me impatiently. I’m currently perched on one of the many plush armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, my Self-Inking Quill in hand and a piece of parchment on my lap.  
  
I’m supposed to be working on my Transfiguration essay, but all I’ve managed to do so far is write down a list of ways that I can exact my revenge on James Potter.  
  
_1._ _Push him off his broomstick._  
  
“C’mon, Lyra, I left my bag down at the pitch and I can’t be arsed going down there to get it.”  
  
Yeah, right, you backstabbing prat, like I’m just going to let you lay your slimy, traitorous hands all over my stuff.  
  
_2._ _Push Albus off his broomstick, and make sure he takes out James on his way down._  
  
Albus, who is lazing on the floor with his many unfinished assignments scattered around him, gives my foot a squeeze. I send a kick in the direction of his face in response, scowling darkly as he catches it before it can make contact.  
  
Damn him and his sodding Seeker reflexes.  
  
I growl lowly under my breath, trying and failing to once again focus my attention on the Transfiguration essay I’m supposed to be writing. Transfiguration isn’t exactly my forte,in fact, none of the classes Hogwarts offer are, really.  
  
No, I would take the clean, crisp air of Hogwarts muddy Quidditch Pitch to the odious stuffiness of its classes any day. Except today, perhaps, considering that if I fail another of Professor Haggle’s deadlines she‘ll flunk me.  
  
This, I know for a fact is true because she had told me so during her class this afternoon, of which I had walked into _late_ I might add.  
  
 “Lyyyyra.” Albus continues to whine from the floor, rolling over onto his back and staring up at me through eyes the colour of emeralds. I ignore him and finger the necklace that hangs around my neck absent-mindedly.  
  
_3._ _Smother him in his sleep._  
  
Something that looks like an old Bertie Botts bean, covered in fluff, is all of a sudden flung in my direction. My parchment then finds itself being scrunched into a crumpled ball and thrown at the dark-haired boy’s head, who merely ignores it and continues to stare up at me with an infuriatingly lazy grin spread across his face.  
  
“For Merlin’s sake, Al – would you shut it already.” Roxanne, who is seated on a nearby couch with Pippa, huffs as she takes a spare quill from her folder and throws it down to Albus, who picks it up lazily and twirls it between his fingers.  
  
I don’t know why she bothered, really. It’s not like he’s going to use it anyway. The only reason he’s been whining at me is because he knows I’m pissed off at him, and he’s trying to make me speak to him again.  
  
But I have every reason not to, really.  
  
I’m about to tell Roxy this until I remember that I’m not speaking to her either. After all, she should have had the common decency to _drag_ me out of the shower and force me to class. It was quite rude of her not to, really.  
  
And so for my tardiness Haggle had made me stay after class and write “There is no O.W.L exam for Quidditch,” a hundred and fifty times.  
  
On a blackboard.  
  
With _chalk_.  
  
So now that my writing hand is predominantly cramped from all that chalk-writing, it’s taking me an extra long time to write my Transfiguration essay which is in fact due _tomorrow_. And the fact that Albus had opened his big mouth and told James about me snogging Fred over summer, really hasn’t done anything to improve my mood.  
  
Yeah, Albus is normally a pretty great guy, when his sodding wanker of a brother isn’t around of course. After that he just transforms into the King of all prats.  
  
“Alright, kids – down to the Pitch we go!”  
  
I take back my previous thought.  In my annoyance at Albus I forgot for an inkling of a second that James is indeed the King of all prats, and Albus is merely his evil puppet.  
  
My scowl deepens as James struts through the entrance to the common room, rustling Roxanne’s dark hair and earning a hiss of anger from the girl.  
  
Roxanne narrows her eyes at him, swatting his hand away with her Transfiguration book and growling.  
  
“You can’t be serious, you already had us training down there all through lunch!”  
  
James waggles his eyebrows in amusement, propping himself onto the arm of Roxanne’s chair.  
  
“Yes, dear cousin, and do you know why?” He asks, not waiting for any kind of answer before carrying on in a falsely pleasant voice. “Because our match against the Slytherins’ is in less than a week and if we don’t win this game – _I will end you_.”  
  
I roll my eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “No way am I missing dinner _again_ tonight. Some of us are actually human, you know, we need to eat.”  
  
James fixes his hazel eyes on me, his eyebrows raised mischievously.  
  
“Unfortunately for you, Scamander, I’m your Captain,” He boasts, “which means that you and the rest of your little friends have to do what I say.”  
  
I narrow my eyes at him. “And what about my Transfig essay? You know that if I miss another deadline Haggle will flunk me.”  
  
James eyes my scrunched up essay, which is currently lying in a crumpled ball by Albus’ head.  
  
“Something tells me you’re not all that concerned with your essay right now.”  
  
I cross my arms across my chest stubbornly. “I am _not_ going.”  
  
James stands, moving to seat himself on the side of my armchair instead, and lazily drape an arm around my shoulders. “Then you’re off the team,” he says in a false cheery voice and I growl lowly under my breath, knowing that in all his arrogance he really would kick me off, if even just to prove the point that he can.  
  
“You would never. You _need_ me,” I counter bitterly, pushing James’ face away from me with my hand.  
  
James studies me for a brief moment before answering. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll cancel practice tonight, so you can work on your little essay. But we’re rescheduling for five o’clock in the morning. And if anyone has a problem with that, then _you_ have to deal with it.”  
  
I wrinkle my nose. That’s an awfully ridiculous time of the morning to have to get up and lug myself out to the Pitch. But the look of disappointment from my former Ravenclaw mother that I’m bound to receive if I flunk class, makes me think twice.  
  
“Deal.” I agree stubbornly, and Albus and Roxanne both let out loud groans of protest.  
  
I don’t care though, since I’m not talking to either of them.  
  
“Alright, then,” James says, looking a little too happy for my comfort. “Let’s have a look at this essay.”  
  
He squeezes down into the armchair next to me, which I might point out is only meant to seat _one_ person at a time, and motions for Albus to throw my crumpled essay up to him.  
  
He smoothes it out, and I’m suddenly shot through with panic as I remember that what he is holding is not actually my Transfiguration essay but my carefully thought out plan to murder him.  
  
 I snatch the parchment away from him, earning myself a nice paper cut in the process, and stuff it into my bag.  
  
James raises his dark eyebrows incredulously. “What the _hell_ was that?”  
  
“I, uh... that was the wrong one.” I cover quickly, looking for something to stem the trickle of blood from my finger.  
  
“Give me that,” James orders, taking my hand.  
  
Jeez, bossy much?  
  
He runs his wand along the small cut, healing it in an instant, and I glower at him darkly.  
  
“I could have done that myself.”  
  
James smirks at me, leaning an arm across the back of armchair and making himself comfortable, which only serves to crush me more into the side of the chair.  
  
“Do you want help with your essay, or not?” He asks, and I sigh in defeat before pulling a new piece of parchment from my bag.  
  
I had only started writing the title on the paper, however, when a screech of girlish laughter reaches my ears and I wince at the sound.  
  
Lysander bounds down from his dormitory with heavy footsteps, his arm around a tall, blonde-headed girl who as recognise instantly as Seventh Year, Marissa Darling. I can’t help but gag. As well as having the most ridiculous name in the entire school, apart from Lysander himself, she’s also earned herself quite the dirty reputation.  
  
She’s a downright slapper, to be honest. And here she is, bounding around in all her slapper-ish glory with _my_ brother, of all people. Well, that is nothing short of revolting, really.  
  
I watch in disgust as she reluctantly breaks apart from Lysander to join her best friend, and coincidentally the snobbiest, and most downright insufferable girl in the entire school, Lydia Harlow, who stands waiting for her friend demurely next to the entrance.  
  
For the first time I notice Lydia glaring daggers at me almost as darkly as I had been glaring at her best friend, her arms crossed in front of her chest firmly.  
  
Why the hell is she glaring at _me_ like that? Not that Lydia Harlow ever needs a reason to dislike someone. She flicks her dark hair and strides out of the common room, her daft friend in tow behind her.  
  
On second thought, maybe she had been glaring at James instead of me. That certainly would make more sense, given how infuriatingly idiotic he can be.  
  
“Hey losers,” Lysander greets the group of us with a stupidly smug grin spread across his face, plonking himself down on the couch between Pippa and Roxanne, who both look as disgusted with him as I feel.  
  
“What the hell are you doing with _her_?” I ask him accusingly, before realising that I don’t actually want to hear the details and raise a hand, saying quickly. “Actually, don’t tell me, I might just throw up.”  
  
Lysander narrows his bright eyes and nods his head at me and James. “You two done trying to kill each other, then?” He drawls, and I purse my lips tight.  
  
“For now.”  
  
“I thought we were supposed to be at practice?” He asks James, who shrugs absently.  
  
“Lyra decided she’d rather get up early in the morning and train.”  
  
Lysander glowers at me darkly and asks. “What did you do now?”  
  
I shrug innocently. “Nothing!”  
  
“Only left her Transfig essay to last minute,” Albus drawls from his place down on the floor and I kick my foot out at him again, this time getting him in his big mouth. He lets out a satisfying groan of pain.  
  
I’m not usually so violent, I swear.  
  
Okay, well maybe I am a little. But growing up with two older brothers, and the brutish kids of my parents friends like James and Albus, you have to at least learn how to defend yourself.  
  
“If I fall off my ruddy broom from lack of sleep, you’re the first one I’m hexing.” Lysander threatens, and I resist the urge to tell him he’d probably be dead, and in no shape to be hexing anyone, before he pushes himself up off the couch and disappears out the entrance hole, growling something about dinner.  
  
After the dark cloud that is Lysander had left the room, it actually doesn’t take too long to get my essay finished with James’ help, although he made me do most of the thinking and sat there the whole time asking me questions on the subject and threatening to start practice even earlier in the morning if I didn’t answer them.  
  
Apart from the whole threatening business, I suppose he can be sort of nice sometimes. Though I highly suspect that’s only because he knows I’ll tell his mum, Ginny, how horrible he’s been to me when I see her next – like he actually thinks that I enjoy seeing him taking a verbal beating from his mum and her don’t-mess-with-me-or-I-will-end-you finger pointing.  
  
Well, I do actually, so he’s right on that one. Ginny Potter loves me, really. She thinks I’m an _angel_ compared to these two, horrid sons of hers.  
  
“Finished.” I announce triumphantly as I scratch in the last word on my essay. James taps me under the chin gently.  
  
“Now if only you can improve your aim by the game next week – life will be perfect.”  
  
I scowl and send him a swift smack across the head to prove there’s nothing wrong with my bloody aim.  
  
Did I say he could be sort of nice sometimes?  
  
I take that back.  
  
***  
  
“I can’t believe we have to start practice at _five_ in the morning!”  
  
Pippa balances cross-legged on the end of her bed, waving her arms animatedly to show her distress. I’m lying on my back on the comfortable four poster next to hers, utterly exhausted, my arms crossed behind my head as I try to tune out sounds of moaning and whining coming at me from either side.  
  
We’d just returned from dinner in the Great Hall, and I was in considerably higher spirits after having stuffed my face until I was practically bursting. That was, of course, until the complaining had started up.  
  
Roxanne lets out a rather unattractive snort and points the brush she’s been grooming her long hair with at me. “I can’t believe dung-for-brains over here actually _snogged_ Freddie.” She says, and then wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Ugh, I can never look at you in the same light again, Lyra, I swear.”  
  
I send her a mischievous grin. “You know what? He’s a brilliant snogger too, that brother of yours.” I tease her, before having to swiftly dodge the hairbrush she throws my way.  
  
“Speaking of brothers, I can’t believe yours is shacking up with _Darling_.” Pippa says, failing miserably to hide her jealously. “I mean, he could of at least picked someone with a positive IQ.”  
  
“Like you?” I tease, and Pippa turns a bright shade of red.  
  
“N-no, I just meant that-“  
  
“Come off it, Bell, we’ve seen you drooling over him more than enough times during practice to know you _luurve_ him.” Roxanne adds and we snigger at Pippa, who denies it with wide-eyes.  
  
I barely suppress a loud yawn. “Well, we should probably get some sleep seeing as how we have to get up at an ungodly hour of the morning.”  
  
“No thanks to you, you wench.” Roxanne says distastefully.  
  
“Come on!” I grumble, no longer able to hide my exasperation. “How would you feel if you had _my_ mother and you were on the verge of flunking a class? You’d agree to get up at five in the bloody morning too.”  
  
“If my Mum thought I was about to flunk a class she’d have my ruddy head,” Roxy counters darkly. “I don’t think your parents have even _heard_ of the word discipline.”  
  
I shrug openly – it was true. My parents travelled a lot for their jobs as Naturalists, sometimes even during our holiday’s home, so I suppose they didn’t want to spend the time they had with their kids disciplining us.  
  
Maybe that’s why Lysander grew up so horrible. I can hardly say the same for Lorcan, however, who’s pretty much a model student.  
  
“Besides,” Pippa says as she tip-toes over to sit on the foot of my bed. “You’re not the only who’s struggling in classes. My Potions have been _so_ bad this year, it’ll be a wonder if I get a decent enough grade to take the class again next year.”  
  
“And you know why, right?” I ask, and Pippa shrugs innocently.  
  
“Because I suck at Potions?”  
  
I roll my eyes lazily. “Uh, no, Pip. You got an ‘O’ in your O.W.L for Potions last year so clearly you don’t suck at it. It’s because of James his bloody boot camp style Quidditch training! How can we be expected to pass our classes on no food and no sleep? It’s barbaric!”  
  
Roxanne lets out a defeated sigh. “Yeah, but there’s nothing we can do about it. James is as stubborn as anything when it comes to Quidditch.”  
  
“If only I was Captain,” I say longingly. “None of us would be falling behind in anything, and I bet we’d still take the Cup.”  
  
“Fat chance. The only way you’ll be made Captain is if James’ abdicates the position, and specifically leaves the Captaincy to you.” Roxanne states unhelpfully. “Or he spontaneously combusts.”  
  
“In which case the rest of the team would have to elect you,” Pippa adds.  
  
I think about this for a moment before asking smoothly. “Say he was to spontaneously combust, you’d elect me right?”  
  
Roxannes snorts. “And have you lord your power over us like my prat of a cousin does? Yeah, right.”  
  
“I always thought Lysander would make a pretty nice Captain.” Pippa adds dreamily and I seize my pillow, lobbing it against her head in disgust.  
  
Ha. Try thinking Lysander would make a nice Captain now, you twit.  
  
“So if my so-called _best_ friends won’t even elect me, I’ll just have to think of a way to make James give it up.” I say, racking my brains for any brilliant ideas.  
  
“Good luck with that,” Roxanne says sourly, rolling her eyes. “James has never given up anything. Well, except when he gave the old Snitch that Uncle Harry gave him to that girl he was convinced he was in love with.”  
  
Roxanne sniggers, until I bolt upright, and she freezes like a deer in headlights, hooting me a look of pure alarm.  
  
“No. No, you cannot even _think_ about doing that.” She rules, pointing a menacing finger at me. “It would never work! This isn’t a _Golden Snitch_ we’re talking about here.”  
  
“But what if it did work?” I raise my eyebrows eagerly, still stuck in the fantastical thought that I may have stumbled upon the perfect way to drag James Potter down from his high Hippogriff.  
  
I look to Pippa for support, and she shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. I mean, I suppose – if you can get him to look past the fact that you’re his best friend’s sister and all. And if you aren’t whacking _bludgers_ at him every other day.”  
  
“If I can make James Potter fall in love with me,” I say slowly, trying to plan the situation out in my head. “There’s sure to be some way to make him give the position up. And then I’ll be guaranteed Captain for next year, as well!”  
  
I glance between Roxanne and Pippa, barely able to hide my enthusiasm.  
  
They, however, stare at me as if I’ve lost the plot.  
  
Roxanne shakes her head doubtfully. “Okay, genius. Even if you do get James to fall in love with you – which I doubt you can, given that you’re both as infuriatingly stubborn and hot-headed as each other – how exactly do you plan on making him give it up?”  
  
I frown at her. “Well, obviously I haven’t figured out the details just yet, but there’s bound to be a way.”  
  
Roxanne scoffs at me. “You’re insane, you know that?”  
  
I ignore her, utterly convinced that it’s the best plan in the world.  
  
“I _will_ make James Potter fall in love with me.” I declare, tuning out the groans of negativity.  
  
I mean, how hard can it be, really? I’ll just slap on some makeup, giggle like a twit and gush about how he’s the _best_ Captain in the world. And Merlin knows that he’s got such an annoyingly large ego, he’ll be falling at my feet, for sure.  
  
Either that or he’ll be so stunned that he’ll spontaneously combust, in which case I’ll have to leave it to the rest of my mad team to elect me as Captain, of which there was little chance of that happening, as they’d most likely all vote for themselves instead.  
  
Crap. This means I’m actually going to have to be _nice_ to him.  
  
What the hell am I getting myself into?  
  
***  
  
**A/N:** _Hi everyone! New story, what do you think of it? Is it worth carrying on? I have been debating for a while about posting it because I wasn't too sure. There's sooo many next-gen stories aorund, and I wanted to make one that was a little different, hence the creation of Lyra Scamander. I don't really read a lot of next-gen stories, or know much information on the characters so I hope nothing is out of place._  
  
_Leave me a review and let me know what you think xx_


	2. Tempers and Tantrums

“Godric save me… damn you, you _beast_! Damn you straight to Hades!”  
  
I throw the Instant Heated Eyelash Curler I had had previously been battling with into the ceramic sink in front of me, and sigh dejectedly,  confirming my righteous decision to never have bothered with the ridiculous device in the past.  
  
The fact that it’s 4.45am in the morning does literally nothing to help my mood.  
  
“What the bloody hell is going on in here?” Roxanne demands, poking her brunette head through the doorway into the small bathroom that the girls of our dormitory share. She squints her hazel eyes as they adjust to the brightness of the room.  
  
If you ask me, Hogwarts really cheated us when it came to the bathrooms. How in their right minds they expect five teenage girls to share two showers, two toilets, two sinks and precisely _one_ mirror is beyond me.  
  
The space turns into an utter bloodbath in the mornings. I always said if things turned deadly, the blood would be on Headmaster Finks’ hands.  
  
I rub my thumb over the small burn mark that the Curler has left on my eyelid, and wince visibly.  
  
“This is a bloody nightmare, Roxy. How am I supposed to make Hogwarts most bigheaded bachelor fall in love with me, if I can’t even look the part!”  
  
Roxanne shakes her head in disappointment as she enters the room, yawning and stretching her long arms above her head.  
  
“Bloody hell, don’t tell me you’re _still_ planning on going ahead with this mad plan of yours,” She snarls in disapproval and I glower at her darkly. “It’s bad enough that I have to get up for practice at five in the freaking morning for you, but now I also have to use my superior beauty skills to make you look somewhat decent? I hate my life.”  
  
I let a grin spread across my lips as Roxanne picks up a black, eyeliner pencil and proceeds to line the rim of my blue eyes.  
  
“Love you, Rox,” I tease, to which she mutters an acknowledgment in response.  
  
After a few minutes of Roxanne poking and prodding my face with various makeup items, I chance a quick look in the mirror and forcibly have to hide my gasp of delight.   
  
There’s no fooling Roxanne, however, who smirks at our reflections and exclaims, “I know, I’m a miracle worker!” before bouncing out of the room to grab her Quidditch gear.  
  
I, however, can barely tear my eyes off of my reflection. I mean, It’s not that I’ve never worn makeup before, it’s just that it’s not something I do all that often, especially not to practice. My previous makeup routines have consisted of me poking myself in the eyes with eyeliner and struggling to keep my lipstick actually within the lines of my lips, so I can safely say that what Roxanne has worked on me is nothing short of magic.  
  
The makeup is appropriately subtle, but applied in a way to enhance my natural features. The black rimming the corners of my sapphire eyes gives them a new sparkle, the apples of my cheeks are perfectly blushed, and my dusky pink lips look even fuller than usual.  
  
“Oi you cheeky bint, stop checking yourself out and let’s go already!”  
  
“Shut it, hag,”  
  
After trudging through the dark down to the Pitch, I bounce into the changing rooms with a new spring in my step, while Roxanne and Pippa haul themselves in behind me, half asleep and utterly miserable.  
  
I don’t care though. They can complain and curse me as much as their little heart’s desire, because I look _great_ and I know that my plan is going to work a treat and that’s all that matters in life right now.  
  
We find a place to set down our bags and change out of the warmer clothes that had been protecting us against the chill in the air and into our practice gear. Barely thirty seconds pass by before we hear James yelling outside for us to get our arses out onto the Pitch, and I supress the urge to yell unless he wants us to practice in our underwear he can bloody well hold his Hippogriffs.  
  
I throw on a pair of black yoga pants, a fitted white t-shirt and a thin but warm blue parka overtop, as well and my aged, brown leather Beaters gloves, and jog out of the change rooms behind the rest of the team, who are all looking as miserable as Roxanne and Pip.  
  
Lysander actually goes out of his way to knock his shoulder into me as he passes me to grab his broom from the rack, and I’m just about to kick him in the back of the leg before I feel a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist and swiftly pull me backwards out of reach.  
  
I squirm out of the iron grasp and turn, livid, to see whoever has prevented me from exacting revenge on my moronic brother and wreak hell on them instead.  
  
However, when I turn around I stop in my tracks to find James Potter, his black hair almost adorably tousled and his hazel eyes still heavy from sleep, yet still trying to give me his don’t-mess-with-me look that reminds so much of his mother, Ginny.  
  
I can’t help myself from softening a little at the sight of it.  
  
“Lyra, what the hell is that shit you’ve slapped on your face?”  
  
Good feelings gone.  
  
My mouth drops in utter horror and I pounce and send a swift punch into his arm, which he winces and rubs tenderly.  
  
“What did you just say to me, you useless git?”  
  
James narrows his eyes at me, “Why the hell are you so violent, Scamander!” he accuses, his deep voice still croaky from sleep.  
  
“Oh right, like _you’re_ the victim,” I argue, before slapping a gloved hand over my mouth, remembering that I was supposed to be playing nice and not blowing my chances of stealing the Captaincy from the tall, dark prat in front of me.  
  
James raises his eyebrows at me and gives me a push towards the broom rack.  
  
“Hurry up, will you. You’re holding us all up.”  
  
I grab my broom from the rack, muttering profanities as I do so. That is until I head to where the team is gathered in a circle ready for James’ instruction, and notice the tall, blonde-haired boy grinning at me from across the circle where he stands next to his best mate, Albus.  
  
Albus, I’m pretty sure has fallen asleep where he’s standing, using his broom to prop himself up, until I launch myself at the blonde, throwing my arms around his neck.  
  
“Louis!” I squeal, positively giddy. “I’m so happy you’re back at practice! Please say you forgive me? Go on, say it.”  
  
Louis chuckles lowly, his blue eyes crinkling as he does so, and envelopes me in his arms.  
  
“How can I be mad at you, Ly? If we didn’t have that arm of yours on the Team, we’d have no chance against the other Houses.”  
  
I step back and beam at Louis Weasley, who is another member of the Weasley-Potter clan – although a heck of a lot more tolerable, in my opinion.  
  
And not to mention easy on the eyes.  
  
Louis is part Veela, thanks to his Mum, Fleur, and because of this has the tell-tale golden hair and deep, blue eyes of the species.  
  
“Merlin, Lyra, he’s only been in the hospital wing for three days,” Albus drawls sleepily from beside us, and I blush.  
  
A few days ago James had us training out here until midnight, and I, in my weary state had accidentally smacked a Bludger with full force towards Louis, hitting him square in the ribs and causing a couple of broken bones.  
  
James was frantic, to put it lightly, however Madame Tempest assured us he’d be fit and healed for the game against Slytherin, which was enough to satisfy James’ fears.  
  
I, however, couldn’t help but feel awful about the whole situation.  
  
“Alright, alright. Enough with the happy reunions, “James barks as he waves me away from Louis, “Everyone mount your brooms and take a few laps around the Pitch to warm up,”  
  
I shoot a last grin at Louis before jumping on my broom and shooting through the air beside Roxy, ignoring Lysander’s death glares as he attempts to cut me off around every corner.  
  
After a while, James calls us back into the circle, balancing a Quaffle on his fingertips as he speaks.  
  
“Today we’re going to practice the Tutshill Twist manoeuvre,” He explains, ignoring everyone’s protests and tossing the Quaffle to Louis, “It can be a dangerous tactic, I’ll admit, but highly effective if done right. I’ve never seen any of the other Hogwarts Teams use it before,”  
  
“Probably because they prefer to live,” Roxanne snorts ungraciously, “That’s a risky move, James, are you sure you want to risk it?”  
  
“Remember the player on the Tornadoes a couple of years ago who lost it during the Cup and couldn’t pull up in time? I’m pretty sure he’s still in St. Mungo’s to this day,” Pippa protests apprehensively, but James shakes his head.  
  
“The weather conditions during that game were all wrong – Mather’s couldn’t see the end of his broomstick through the fog, let alone the ground. We won’t make that mistake, and besides, I have faith in my Chasers,” James answers confidently, and I make a gagging noise which sends Roxy into a fit of laughter.  
  
I scan the players’ faces, all of who are looking more than a little unsure about what James is proposing. Pippa had been right to be nervous about the manoeuvre. The Twist involves a Chaser diving with the Quaffle in hand, at a great speed downwards towards the Pitch, pulling up just in time to twist back and pass to one of two waiting Chasers poised within reach of the hoops.  
  
The whole point of the move is for the Chasers to be moving too quickly for the Beaters to locate and aim a direct hit. The manoeuvre itself, however, requires speed, accuracy and a huge amount of courage.  
  
“Pip and Louis, you’re the two Chasers who need to master this move. Lysander and I will play as opposing Chasers and try to intercept the Quaffle as you pass after the dive. Lyra and Roxy will look out for the intercept and be ready to prevent it,”  
  
I let out a whoop and high-five Roxanne. Practice couldn’t get much better then actually being _allowed_ to whack Bludgers at James and Lysander.  
  
“Al, I want you keep an eye out for any Quaffles that are dropped or passed out of bound. Keep your speed up and don’t let any ball touch the ground. Alright Team, let’s get to it.”  
  
We spent around an hour working on the Twist, and I found myself actually enjoying the time.  
  
Pippa approached the move apprehensively, which was evident by the lack of speed she gained in her dive and the amount of times that James made her start over, pressing her to move faster and faster.  
  
Poor girl actually had tears in her eyes and refused to move an inch more by the end of it.  
  
Louis, however, was a natural, daring himself to go faster and further before pulling up to pass the Quaffle on to Pippa, who shot the ball through the hoop with perfect aim, just so long as she wasn’t the one diving.  
  
True to his position as Seeker, Albus sped after every dropped Quaffle with speed and finesse, though Lysander was much too preoccupied with warding off my constant attacks then to actually pretend to be a Chaser. I was having the time of my life. Especially when I managed to hit a Bludger at Lysanders head while he was taking a breather.  
  
He chased me around the Pitch for a good fifteen minutes after that. Not that he was much of a threat, to be honest. All defence and no speed, that one.  
  
I had just managed to put enough distance between us, so that I felt somewhat safe, when I hear a voice call up from down on the Pitch.  
  
“Hey, Scamander!  Why don’t you let a real flyer show you how it’s done, instead of that sorry excuse for a Keeper,”  
  
I whoop loudly and fly down to the fair-haired boy, ruffling his hair affectionately before jumping off my broom in front of him.  
  
“One on one time, huh? I won’t say no to that, Scorp,” I tease, and he lets his lips curve into a smirk and raises his eyebrows at me.   
  
Scorpius Malfoy had always had a love/hate relationship with us Gryffies, meaning that he loves some of us and hates the rest. I count myself lucky to be in the former group.  
  
“Don’t tempt me,” He winks, encouraging the jest, and the entire Slytherin Team who have gathered behind him either roll their eyes or gag at the exchange.  
  
I ignore them. Scorpius is really the only tolerable player on the Slytherin Team. Well, him and his best mate, Ed Higgs, I suppose.   
  
Ed pretends he doesn’t like me, because I get my kicks out of calling him by his full name ‘Edgar’, but I know he secretly likes it.  
  
With a soft whoosh, James touches down on the ground beside me and props his broom over his toned shoulder.  
  
“Nice move, Potter,” Scorpius smirks, his light eyes growing suddenly cold. “Trying to kill your Chasers before they embarrass you in the match next week, I see.”  
  
I protest at the insult to my friends, but James stands in front of me slightly.  
  
Whether he thinks he’s guarding me from the big, bad Slytherins or he’s completely forgotten my existence altogether, I don’t know.  
  
I’m betting on the latter.  
  
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” James asks darkly. It’s no secret that these two have never liked each other, but things have seemed to step up a notch since we returned to Hogwarts this term.  
  
To me, it was just one giant pain in the arse. I like Scorpius – his quick humour and wit amuse me to no end. And although he’d never admit it, he did have a gentler side that he showed on occasion.  
  
“I’ve booked the Pitch this morning, take it up with Finks if you have a problem with it,” Scorpius says carelessly, “I was under the impression you had it booked for last night.”  
  
“Yeah, we did.” James replies through gritted teeth as he turns to scowl at me darkly.  
  
I shrug my shoulders and hold up my hands in defence, “Err, sorry?”  
  
“See you in Potions, Ly,” Scorpius grins as he trudges past James and out onto the Pitch – his broom swung over his shoulder and a Golden Snitch struggling in his free hand.  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Scorp,” I sing, saluting him in false admiration and smiling demurely.  
  
That is until James grabs me by the arm, glaring down at me through slitted, hazel eyes. And might I just add that the guy is considerably taller than me, making him look all the more menacing. I curl my lips in distaste, before remembering I needed to stick to my plan.  
  
It took every inch of willpower that I had to relax my facial muscles into a somewhat neutral expression.  
  
“What’s going on with you two then?” James questions, rather accusingly.  
  
I bat my eyelashes innocently, “Whatever do you mean, dear Captain?”  
  
James rolls his eyes impatiently and begins to drag me along towards the locker rooms.  
  
Merlin, this guy is _strong_.  
  
“You and Malfoy, flirting up a storm back there! There’s no way you’re getting involved with another Houses player.  Let alone a Captain! Let alone… _Malfoy_ ,”  
  
“Relax, Officer Potter, have you ever heard of playful banter?” I spit back, before correcting myself, “Wait, what am I saying? Of course you haven’t, you have the humour of a wingless gnat.”  
  
James scowls, and starts to retort before I interrupt him.  
  
“Why do you care anyway?”  
  
“Because Malfoy’s a git – and as you so elegantly proved over summer with Freddie, you’re incapable of making good choices,”  
  
I couldn’t help myself – I smacked him over the head with my bat.    
  
DON’T TELL ME THAT HE DIDN’T DESERVE IT THAT TIME.  
  
Operation: Make James Potter Fall in Love with Me  
  
Day One: Complete and utter _fail._  
  
**  
  
While Pippa headed back to the dormitory to fill in a couple of last minute changes to her Transfiguration essay, Roxy and I took advantage of our practice being cut short to have an early breakfast in the Great Hall, followed by promptly falling asleep with our heads on the wooden tables in front of us.   
  
I was woken after Godric knows how long by a swift smack across the head, and I lifted my head drowsily to find Lysander seated across from me, a golden piece of toast hanging from between his teeth and his sapphire eyes sparkling menacingly.  
  
“Please tell me that you didn’t smack me with that piece of toast and then stick it in your mouth.”  
  
“Yummy – tastes like obnoxious Beater.”  
  
“You’re revolting,” I answer in disgust, stretching my arms above my head before rubbing at my eyes lazily.  
  
A mere second later, James plonks himself down onto the bench next to me – picking up a large plate and piling it high with bacon and sausages. I eye him curiously and he grunts at me in acknowledgment, before shovelling a piece of perfectly crisped bacon into his mouth.  
  
I swear to Merlin that he swallowed it whole.  
  
A gaggle of giggling girls sit a little further down the table, gawking at James as he eats, and I resist the sudden urge to flick a spoonful of oatmeal their way.  
  
Scowling darkly, I reach for a piece of toast and smother it with strawberry jam, then nibble on the corner of it tentatively as I watch James from the corner of my eye.  
  
I suppose I can see what those girls would like in him – I mean, he is pretty fit, even if he is a complete _tosser_.   
  
His jet-black hair, although constantly messy, falls over his face in just the right way, and his eyes are the most inviting, warm shade of brown – with small flecks of emerald green interlaced within them – and then there’s his body, well, I can safely say that years of Quidditch have turned him from a scrawny kid into a lean, muscular piece of-  
  
“Can’t take your eyes off me, huh Ly?” James teases, noticing me gawking at him stupidly.  
  
I jump awkwardly and drop my toast on the table in front of me, reaching hurriedly to pick it up.  
  
“You, erm… have food on your face?”  I offer lamely, and James wipes his face with his sleeve before going back to shovelling food into his mouth.  
  
Phew.  
  
Dodged that one.  
  
I immediately go back to staring at him.  
  
This time, however, I notice the small beginnings of a red lump forming on the side of his forehead – the tell-tale sign of being smacked with a certain hot-tempered Beaters bat.  
  
I instantly start to feel incredibly guilty at the sight of it, and I sigh inwardly, leaning my chin on my propped up elbow as I finish my piece of toast.  
  
How in the name of Merlins beard am I supposed to get this guy to fall for me when we can barely be within five feet of each other without resorting to both verbal and physical violence.   
  
I mean, there’s no-one who pushes my buttons quite like James Potter, except perhaps Lysander but since we’re family he has no choice but to love me.  
  
Ugh, even the thought of James and I being civil, or god forbid even _nice_ to each other sounds like such a far off possibility to me.  
  
Maybe Roxy’s right, and this plan really is stupid.  
  
Maybe I am insane.  
  
“Morning all – nice to see Jamesy hasn’t killed any of you yet,”  
  
I’m interrupted from my thoughts by a thousand butterflies fluttering in my stomach as a familiar voice floats down to my ears and the owner shuffles himself on to the bench next to me.  
  
Oh, sweet Merlins trousers.  
  
This is _not_ what I need right now.  
  
“Especially you, Ly,” Bastian Knox grins knowingly from beside me, and I turn slowly to face the intruder.  
  
Immediately, something lurches in my chest.  
  
Godric, he looks _good._  
  
Bastian Knox is a fellow Gryffindor and best mate of James and Lysander. He’s also incredibly gorgeous – and boy, does he know it.  
  
Sometimes I think he has a bigger fan club then James himself.  
  
Well, almost.  
  
Bastian winks at me through eyes the colour of liquid silver and I think I start to melt a little bit.  
  
“Bash!” James cuts through my daze as he greets his friend with some kind of weird, secret handshake over the top of my head. I shrink back and groan inwardly.  
  
Bash rans a hand through his dark hair, which is still damp from showering, before digging into the food in front of him.  
  
He smells _amazing._  
  
I find myself leaning a little closer towards him.  
  
“Hey, Wade!” Lysander greets a caramel-skinned boy who has seated himself on the bench next to him.  
  
Wade Thomas grins toothily as he accepts a plate of bacon being passed over to him by James, and digs into the food.  
  
I swear its unhealthy how much these boys eat.  
  
Even though Bastian and Wade don’t play Quidditch themselves, they seem to eat and work out as though they’re training for it.  
  
Really, though, their interests lie elsewhere.  
  
Wade is the academic, he’s pretty brilliant really. He received top marks in all of his O.W.Ls and is now preparing to earn the same in his N.E.W.Ts, in hopes of scoring an internship at the Ministry of Magic after leaving Hogwarts.  
  
I think he quite fancies himself being Minister for Magic one day.  
  
And Bash? Well, what can we say about Bastian Knox…  
  
Bash changes many of his ambitions on an almost daily basis, but one thing with him is certain – he dreams of being an Auror, planning on beating the top records set by Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody and Harry Potter themselves.  
  
I’ve got to hand it to the guy – he dreams big.  
  
So the two of them quit Quidditch in their Fifth Year, to focus instead on their academics.  
  
 _Ha! Suckers…_  
  
I feel someone’s foot running up my leg under the table, and I turn and glare at Bash darkly. He shrugs his shoulders innocently in response and throws me a careless grin.  
  
Here comes the brief and depressing history of Lyra and Bash.  
  
You see, I snogged him a couple of times at the end of last year, though quickly called it quits after Lysander almost walked in on us making out in the Sixth Year boys dormitory. I got myself out of that particular sticky situation by telling Lysander that James’ had stolen my Beaters gloves and I was simply retrieving them.  
  
The fact that I walked out of there empty handed really _should_ have set off some warning bells.  
  
Sometimes having a dimwit for a brother isn’t all that bad.  
  
The point of the story is I am _not_ going back there again – not unless I want Lysander to throttle me, in any case.  
  
My brother seems to have a nasty habit of chasing away the guys who are even remotely interested in me.  
  
Like the time when Cal Spangler sent me a rose on Valentines’ day in Fourth Year. Lysander and James hung him off the Astronomy Tower by his feet until he swore never to do it again, and then made him sing the theme song to the movie _‘Titanic’_ in front of the entire Great Hall.  
  
Needless to say, Cal hasn’t looked me in the eye since.  
  
Or the time when Erroll McCrory asked me on a date beginning of Fifth Year, and I showed up to find him convulsing on the floor with his skin turning an alarming shade of purple, after James and Lysander slipped Venomous Tentacular juice into his water at dinner.  
  
I still shudder when I think about that one.  
  
Or even the time when they charmed Scorpius’ hair pink just for dropping my Potions textbook back to the Gryffindor Common Room for me after I had left it in class.  
  
Oh wait, that one was just James.  
  
Anyway, you may be wondering why I’d risk provoking Lysander’s wrath by trying to make James fall in love with me.  
  
Simple – it’s for the greater good.  
  
Besides, seeing Lysander hex his best mate to Azkaban and back sounds pretty amusing to me.  
  
I sigh shortly as I sneak a quick look at Bash, who is relaying some stupid story to Lysander about Professor Longbottoms latest class.  
  
There are times, every now and then when I _really_ freaking regret the decision to call things off with him. I mean, sure he’s known to be an egotistical prat more often than not, and Godric knows how much he relishes in the attention from his dim-witted fan club.  
  
But he’s just so pretty to look at.  
  
And he’s a really great kisser.  
  
And did I mention that he smells _amazing._  
  
“Lyra, I sincerely hope all that time I wasted helping you with your Transfig essay is going to pay off,”  
  
James rudely snaps me out of my daydream and I answer in a carefully measured voice.  
  
“As soon as I’m done with Potions this morning I’ll find out, won’t I?”  
  
“Ah, Sixth Year Potions… how I don’t miss all the girls trying to slip me Amortentia,” He comments lightly.  
  
“I’m with you on that one,” Bash agrees with him, through a mouthful of food.  
  
I stare at Bash in disgust for a moment before rolling my eyes at James.  
  
“Are you sure it wasn’t just Lysander?”  
  
A cherry tomato hits me in the side of the face, courtesy of Lysander.  
  
I blink.  
  
James smiles at me.  
  
For a split second I’m utterly terrified.  
  
“Oh, little Salamander – ever the smartarse,”  
  
“That’s why we love her, right Jamesy?” Bash teases, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing me against him.  
  
This is _really_ not helping, Knox.  
  
  
“Bash – don’t touch me. And _you_ ,” I say while pointing an accusing finger in James’ face, “Really deserve nothing less than my attitude,”  
  
I mentally slap myself as soon as the words leave my mouth.  
  
Why is it so hard to be nice to this guy?  
  
WHY?  
  
James snorts, and fills up a second plate full of food.  
  
“Anyway,” I continue lamely, “We’re learning the Wiggenwald Potion,”  
  
He raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Tough potion – good luck with that,”  
  
I purse my lips, as I spear a slice of avocado with my fork.  
  
“Oh don’t you worry, having Scorpius as a partner practically guarantees me an easy pass. The boy’s a potioneering genius.”  
  
James lips twist into an unhappy scowl and a small sense of triumph flitters in my stomach.  
  
Usually I would have paired up with Roxy or Pippa, but I’ve come to realise over the years – what with Potions being my worst subject and all – that it was time to ditch the dull bints and go for gold.   
  
Scorpius doesn’t seem to mind my lack of talents. In fact, I think he rather enjoys bossing me around during lessons.  
  
 _Sadistic prat._  
  
“Why the hell you insist on being ‘friends’ with that slimy git, I will never know,” James comments.  
  
“What do you mean ‘friends’?” I demand at once, imitating James’ finger quotations. “Besides, I’m friends with you, aren’t I? And Merlin knows that you’re just as bad as you _think_ he is.”  
  
James scoffs and stabs at a sausage with his fork, “I’d hardly call being forced together since we were toddlers ‘friends’,”  
  
My mouth drops open.  
  
Oh no he didn’t.  
  
“Well, _excuse me_ – I’ll just run along to my class now, shall I? Where I can spend my time with Scorpius, my actual _friend_ , instead of a messy-haired Quidditch freak like you!” I shriek at the raven-haired boy before banging my fist down on the table in front of me, startling Roxy who until now was sleeping peacefully across from me, with her face in a plate of food.  
  
Roxy bolts upright, scrambled eggs falling from her hair, and searches for the source of the noise.  
  
“Lyra, come on – I didn’t mean it like that,” James starts, but it’s too late.  
  
“Rox, let’s go,” I hiss with one last glare at him before grabbing my bag and storming from the Great Hall.  
  
Things are most definitely _not_ going to plan.  
  
**  
  
Half an hour later I’m sitting in Potions, absent-mindedly tapping my fingers against the top of the wooden desk as Professor Virgo goes over the lesson for the day. I prop my chin on my hand and watch as she drawls on – her voice still carrying the soft lilt of an accent.  
  
Valerie Virgo had started her teaching career at Salem’s Witches Institute before she moved on to be Hogwarts Potions Teacher. She was young, probably in her early thirties, and often the object of many of the male student’s attentions.  
  
Poor lass – I know first had how idiotic the male population of Hogwarts can be.  
  
Clearly, I’m still fuming over what James said to me at breakfast.  
  
How could he say that we weren’t friends? I get that our Mums have been best friends since they were at Hogwarts and everything, so it wasn’t really our choice that we’ve been around each other our whole lives.  
  
And why do I even care what he thinks, anyway?  
  
“Earth to Lyra – anyone there?”  
  
Scorpius pokes me in the arm with what looks to be an old, dried up Jafflewart tail.   
  
“Huh?” I reply, rather ungraciously, brushing the Potion ingredient away from me. The Jafflewart, coincidentally, was a tree-dwelling creature that my parents had discovered a few years back on a trip to Ghana.  
  
Scorpius fixes his pale blue eyes on me, his forehead creased in concern.  
  
“What’s wrong with you today?”  
  
I dismiss his question with a wave of my hand and mumble, “It’s nothing, let’s just start this,”  
  
Scorpius eyes me curiously but says nothing as he starts heating the cauldron for us to begin our Potion. I flick through my text book lazily, looking for the recipe. Scorpius has already started adding the first ingredients when I finally locate it. I try to help out by measuring out seven drops of Salamander blood.  
  
Huh, Salamander…  
  
Wait a second!  
  
“Scorp?” I ask sweetly, earning a stare dripping with mistrust from the boy.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“You’re a boy,”  
  
“Well done, Scamander,”  
  
“So,” I begin, dropping the Salamander blood into the cauldron and pulling a sprig of mint from a small vial, “If I were to ask you how to get a guy’s attention, what would you advise?”  
  
Scorpius stops staring the cauldron and stares at me pointedly.   
  
“Oh Merlin, don’t tell me you’re thinking of shacking up with Knox again?”  
  
“Shhhh!” I whisper furiously, covering Scorpius’ mouth with my hand to stop him from continuing, “I told you that in confidence! And no, that’s not what I’m thinking,”  
  
Scorpius wrestles my hand away from his face and eyes me like I’ve gone mad.  
  
“Is this why you’re acting even weirder then usual today? You’ve fallen for some bloke?”  
  
“Er, something like that,” I answer, before flailing my arms impatiently, “Are you going to help me or not?”  
  
“Well, let me think about it. Are you gonna tell me who the lad is, at least?”  
  
“No chance in hell,”  
  
Scorpius thinks it over for a second, scratching his chin in thought.  
  
“All I can tell you is you have to catch his eye – look the part,”  
  
I gesture to myself,  
  
“What about _this_ doesn’t look the part?”  
  
Scorpius shrugs his shoulders half-heartedly, “Well,”  
  
I smack him with a ladle, and he protests loudly.  
  
“Jeez, you’re so shallow, Scorp… what are you looking at over there?”  
  
I follow Scorpius’ eye-line to the table where Rose Weasley and Katherine Finnigan are working together on their potion, and my eyebrows furrow.  
  
“Nothing,” Scorpius answers quickly, before going back to stirring the cauldron.  
  
I shake my head, amused. “You’re a strange one, Mr Malfoy,”  
  
“You love it,”  
  
After Potions I have Transfiguration, where I manage a pass for my essay ( _You’re good for something, at least, James Potter!_ ) much to Professor Haggle’s bewilderment. Then, it’s double Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Furr, where I almost had my entire hair singed off by a rogue Fire Crab, and Albus lost part of an eyebrow, and lastly History of Magic, which I mostly slept through, much to the delight of Louis, who rubbed Weasley’s Fake Moustache lotion on my face and I woke up to a face full of fur.  
  
Thankfully, a quick Hair Removal spell and a whack over the head for Louis soon cured it.  
  
After classes, I was lazing around in our dormitory with Pippa and Roxy, lying on my bed and throwing my gloves in the air above me before catching them as they fell down, making up Quidditch plays in my head that I would enforce when I’m Captain, as the other two chattered in the background.  
  
It wasn’t long before the door swung open, and in walked Rose Weasley and Katherine Finnigan, the other two members of our happy little dorm room.  
  
“Hey Rosie, Kit,” Roxy greets them, and I glance at them briefly before the thought strikes me.  
  
“Rosie, you know James!” I exclaim, bolting upright on my bed and tossing my gloves onto the floor.  
  
Rose wrinkles her freckled nose as she thinks, and twirls a strand of fiery red hair around her finger.  
  
“James who?”  
  
“James Potter! Your cousin, you dolt,”  
  
“Oh, him,”  
  
I roll my eyes at her before continuing.  
  
“Okay, so say someone was trying to get his attention… romantically speaking,”  
  
Rose raises her fair eyebrows questioningly before something clicks in her head, and her mouth drops.  
  
“Sweet Merlins left spotty sock – you _fancy_ James?”  
  
“Left spotty wha-? Wait, no! No I do _not_ fancy James Potter,” I answer quickly, ignoring Roxy and Pippa’s giggles coming from either side of me.  
  
“But you just said-“  
  
“I know what I said, Rose!” I interrupt her in exasperation, flailing my arms in the air to demonstrate my impatience, “Look, Weasley, I’ll spare you the details. I need answers. Stat.”  
  
Rose shrugs her slim shoulders.  
  
“Easy – just flatter his ego,”  
  
 Like I didn’t already think of that.  
  
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Kit pulls it open quickly, before glancing at me through eyes the colour of amber.  
  
“Um, Lyra? It’s for you,”   
  
I puzzle over who it could be for a second, before tip-toeing to the door and noticing the tall boy with messy, black hair that stands in front of me, his broomstick held in one hand and his expression solemn  
  
“Hey,” James offers as greeting as he runs a hand through his dark hair, “Can I talk to you?”  
  
I look back on the four pairs of curious eyes sending me knowing grins, before I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me with a soft click.  
  
“What do you want?” I ask abruptly, folding my arms in front of my chest.  
  
James pushes the sleeves of his white uniform shirt up, and eyes me warily, “Look, Lyra, I know that things have been hectic lately – the Slytherin game is next week and I guess that I haven’t been handling the pressure of that as well as I should,”  
  
I purse my lips tight.  
  
“You’re right about that one,”  
  
He grins sheepishly, dragging his foot on the wooden floor, and for a moment I soften.  
  
Why does he have to look so good while I’m trying to be mad at him!  
  
Wait, _what_?  
  
I shake the thought from my mind and cross my arms across my chest tighter.  
  
“What I really wanted to say is that I’m sorry for what I said earlier, Ly. It’s not true.”  
  
My eyes widen in surprise and I let my lips curve upwards.  
  
“Did you just apologise to me, James Sirius Potter?”  
  
James chuckles and pushes my arm playfully, and I can’t help but smile back at him.  
  
“You know how much I hate it when you use my full name, Lyra Pandora Scamander.”  
  
 _“Touché,”_  
  
“So,” James starts, holding his arms out, “Can we be friends?”  
  
I roll my eyes before the calculations work themselves out in my head.  
  
Friends = one step closer to being Captain.  
  
I let myself fall into his hug.  
  
Godric, has he always had all these muscles?  
  
“Yeah, I guess we can,”  
  
Operation: Make James Potter Fall in Love with Me.  
  
Day One: Making small progress.  
  
   
  
 **A/N:** _Hey guys! Sorry if anything seems out of place, I'm pretty new to writing next-gen so still getting the hang of it! Please let me know what you think of this story by commenting! I'm going to try and carry on with it, but I'd like to see how much interest it has so far. Thanks for reading :)_


	3. Detentions and Games

The hoots and screeches of a dozen snowy, tawny and barn owls echo through the air above me as the chaos of the daily mail run begins. Dozens of letters in creamy, white envelopes and brown packages tied with string are dropped through the air and down to the tables below where the students of Hogwarts are happily eating breakfast.

I cover my ears to block out the racket and try my best to ignore it.

I’m far too pre-occupied with trying to convince my prudish best friend to list, in her honest opinion, the top five fittest blokes at Hogwarts.

What? It’s a serious subject, alright.

Albus and Louis have been unusually absent all morning, and on top of that, none of the Seventh Years are anywhere to be found.

So what else are we meant to talk about?

Roxanne is seated next to me, her dark, glossy hair spilling over her shoulders in perfect waves. She looks thoroughly unimpressed with my antics as she stirs a spoonful of brown sugar into her porridge.

I don’t know what her problem is, really. It’s like every time Pippa and I start talking about some fit lad she just can’t get away fast enough. I suppose that having to survive an entire family of insufferable males has put her off, and I can’t blame her for that.

In our Fifth Year Caleb Towler struck up the courage to ask her on a date – poor little lamb – only to be met by the threat of her Beaters bat across his temple.

Since then, no-one else has had the nerve to try.

I think she secretly likes it that way.

Roxy rolls her almond eyes darkly and taps her manicured fingernails against the wood of the table, “This is a waste of time – I’m _not_ answering that,”

I purse my lips and glare at her, and then prod her in the arm with my fork.

“You’re no fun,”

Roxanne clicks her tongue. “Why are you so interested in the subject, anyway? I thought you were on a mission to capture the heart of my dear cousin,”

“It’s just a bit of fun, Sergeant Buzzkill,”

“What would Jamesy think?”

“Fine –what would you rather talk about?”

Roxy thinks for a second. “Oh, I don’t know… wait, there’s a D.I.Y article for a Butterbeer Lip Balm in the new Witch Weekly, and I was thinking–”

“Pass,” I groan, and Roxy picks a blueberry from the fruit platter in front of us and flings it at me.

Classic Roxanne. She’d much prefer the glossy pages of a magazine to the musty leaves of a book any day. And for someone who spends so much time on a Quidditch Pitch, it’s strange how much she bothers with her appearance. It’s not like she’s trying to impress any of the guys at Hogwarts, at least.

Well, as far as I know.

I dodge the rogue berry and turn my gaze on Pippa, who sits across from us with her emerald eyes scanning the pages of her latest literary obsession. She’s a stickler for the old Muggle classics – a true romantic at heart. Her latest endeavour is the great Jane Eyre.

This is only about the fourteenth time she’s read it.

I think I’ll interrupt her.

“Okay, Pip, _you_ go,” I instruct before smirking at her, “That is if I can drag you away from Mr Rochester for long enough,”

Pippa lifts her big eyes from the page and makes a face before thinking for a second, twirling a strand of mousy-brown hair around her finger as she does so.

“Uh, I guess… Lysander,” She says uncertainly, with a shrug of her slim shoulders, “And then probably Lorcan,”

My face twists in disgust and I let out a mock gag as she names my two only siblings.

“Ugh, you’re disqualified! Rochester can have you,”

“You asked!” She protests as she reaches for a croissant and starts layering it with peanut butter.

Disgusting.

She nods her head at me, “You go then,”

I pop a wedge of orange in my mouth and wrinkle my nose at the tartness of it as I chew.

“I should probably tie Albus and Louis for first place since they would kill me otherwise,” I start and Roxanne says “Naturally,” in response.

“And then I suppose… Bash, Scorpius and Asher Davies,” I say, referring to Ravenclaws’ current Seeker as my last option.

Pippa lets out an amused giggle at my choices.

“Bash, really?” Roxanne snorts before saying, “Well, if you like that sort of thing I guess,”

I can feel my face burning red under her stare and quickly try to cover with an awkward cough.

So, here’s the thing.

Neither of them knows about my extremely short and disastrous fling with Bash last year, and I’d like to keep it that way.

I’M NOT A BAD FRIEND, OKAY?

It’s simply called self-preservation. The less people who know, the less chance there is of Lysander finding out and murdering us both.

“You haven’t chosen a fifth,” Roxanne observes as she spoons her porridge into her mouth, looking incredibly uninterested.

“Oh, um… James then, I guess,”

They both stop and look at me dumbly.

“What?” I question, nibbling on the end of a strawberry uncomfortably.

Pippa leans forward before saying lowly, “You just said _James_ ,”

“And?”

“You hate James,”

“Hate is a strong word – and besides, we’re friends now,”

“Yeah, right,”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” I accuse as I stare at the two of them pointedly, “’Friends’ is one step closer to getting him fall in love with me. James Potter is the one and only obstacle between me and my life-long dream,”

“James Potter, what?”

I hear a deep voice from behind me and stop, my heart beating in panic.

Oh, sweet Merlin’s left ear – what have I done now?

I turn abruptly to find that it’s only my brother, Lorcan, and a wave of relief washes over me. He shuffles onto the bench next to me.

“What brings you across the Hall?” I enquire, and Lorcan flashes me a toothy smile.

Lorcan is identical to Lysander in every way, though there are small details that make it easy enough to tell them apart. Lorcan keeps his hair shorter, which makes it look darker then Lysander’s highlighted strands. He’s also leaner – not quite having the same build that Lysander has gained from years of playing Quidditch.

He fixes his bright, blue eyes on me.

“Can I not simply come to see how my little sister is doing?”

I send him a pointed stare and he shrugs his shoulders in defeat.

“Fine. Mum sent us a letter,” He admits as he steals a slice of apple from my plate and tosses it in his mouth. I wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t.

“So,” I press, when he doesn’t move to add any more, “Can I read it?”

“Oh, Lys has it. I saw him earlier this morning,”

I sigh in disappointment.

“Great, I’ll never get it now,” I complain, then pause for a moment. “Where is he by the way?”

“Said something about a Defence test,” Lorcan says, picking up my goblet casually and taking a long sip of pumpkin juice. “I had mine yesterday. Bloody tough, but I’m sure I managed to nail it,”

“Yeah, yeah that’s great,” I say with a dismissive wave, guessing that James, Bastian and Wade must also be taking the test.

“So, how’s Hanna?” I ask, enquiring about Lorcans long-time girlfriend, Hanna McAvoy. Hanna was also a Ravenclaw – she and Lorcan had been dating since their Fifth Year – and I adore her. The two of us don’t have a lot in common, that’s for sure, but we get along extremely well.

“She’s great – freaking out about N.E.W.Ts of course, but I’m sure she has nothing to worry about,”

I watch as Lorcan starts helping himself to the rest of the fruit on my plate, completely oblivious to my dark stare, and I let out an exasperated huff and push the plate in front of him.

“So, Mum and Dad are in South America, you know?” He tells me, not even blinking an eye at the fact that he’s just stolen my breakfast. “They’re hunting for some beetle that a couple of locals have spotted. Class Four rating, even,”

I click my tongue impatiently and say sarcastically, “Fantastic – I would know that if you had given the letter to me instead of your idiot twin,”

Lorcan stops eating and considers the statement dreamily before shrugging.

“I’m sure you’ll get it eventually. Anyway, I better get to class,”

“You’re half an hour early,”

“Well, you know, N.E.W.Ts and everything,”

He pushes himself up from the bench and says goodbye to all three of us before striding off. I look at my best friends and shake my head in disbelief.

“Why couldn’t I have had sisters?”

**

Forty minutes later I stumble into Alchemy, my first class for the day, ten minutes late, and decide that I probably should have taken a leaf from Lorcans’ book and left breakfast a little earlier to get to class on time.

I peek my head through the door and make sure that Professor Crankshaw has shuffled into his office before I all but crawl between the tables and into my seat beside Albus and Louis, who both have their eyebrows raised in amusement at the sight of me.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Albus remarks lightly, and I poke my tongue out at him.

Alchemy is one of two classes, as well as Ancient Runes, that I don’t have with Roxanne and Pippa, who had both chosen to continue on with Divination and Arithmancy instead. Professor Beauregard, my Head of House and Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, had suggested the subject to me as a means to help me understand and increase my performance in Potions.

I hate it almost as much as I hate Potions.

_Almost._

I pull my books out from my bag and let out a sigh of relief as I relax into my seat. I’m utterly exhausted after hurling myself through a dozen corridors to reach the sodding classroom.

“What are we supposed to be doing?”

Albus pushes his book towards me to show me the page we’re working from, and I flash him a grateful smile. Alchemy is Albus’ favourite class, and I know that I can always rely on him to help me out when I need it.

Merlin knows he’s not good for anything else, except maybe catching Snitches.

“Taking notes on the process of fermenting Hippocampus hoof for use in Potions. We’re starting the practical in the next class,” He says casually, and I turn my book to the same page and start scanning the information.

It only takes a few minutes of me scratching down the notes to become bored, and I nudge Albus’ shoulder.

“Where were you this morning?”

Albus grimaces.

“Alarms didn’t go off – our entire dorm missed breakfast,” He explains, indicating to the other sixth year boys, Eroll McCrory, Henry Strudwick and Caleb Towler, who are sitting a couple of tables over and looking equally as miserable.

I look at him in confusion. “None of your alarms went off? That sounds a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Albus and Henry never set theirs anyway,” Louis adds, chewing on the end of his quill irritably and leaning back in his chair to see me past Albus.

Albus shrugs and says to Louis, “Why should I, when I’ve got you to do it for me?”

“I like your logic,” I giggle, and Louis rolls his eyes at the pair of us.

Suddenly the door to Crankshaws office swings open and he enters the room swiftly. Louis lets his chair fall forwards with a loud bang, accidentally drawing Crankshaws attention. He stops abruptly and surveys the three of us through dark brown eyes.

I sink down in my seat, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. Professor Crankshaw had been recruited a couple of years ago by Headmaster Finks when the subject of Alchemy started becoming more and more popular with the senior students. He was a middle-aged man, with wispy grey hair, and he often smelled of sulphur.

He hates me because my Mum told him he ought to try a salve made of Grimyak urine to help with his balding head when she visited the school last year.

I thought the advice was hilarious – he however, did not.

 “Miss Scamander,” He starts, wringing his hands together out of habit, “When did you get here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, Professor,”

“Nice try, but your tardiness has earned you a detention. See me after classes,”

I growl lowly under my breath, knowing that this means missing Quidditch practice.

James is going to _kill_ me.

“You’re dead,”Albus chuckles lowly, confirming my thoughts, and I snatch his quill from his hand and throw it across the room, earning a double detention.

Way to point out the obvious, you prat.

Crankshaw instructs us to get back to our notes, saying that he’ll be looking them over at the end of class, before heading back into his small office.

I hear someone saying “Pssst” from behind me, and turn to see Scorpius trying to get my attention. I sneak a quick glance at Crankshaw’s office before shuffling over to his table.

Scorpius, who’s sitting on the end of the table beside Ed Higgs and Florence Snell says in a hushed voice, “Hey. Are you lot coming to the Halloween party tomorrow night?”

On Halloween every year, the Sixth and Seventh Years plan some sort of costume party to celebrate the holiday after the Halloween Feast. It’s not exactly approved of by the Professors, but rumour has it that Headmaster Finks gives his permission for it every year

“I doubt James will let us get away from the Pitch for long enough,” I whisper back, before stopping. “Hang on, you’re going?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” He says as he flashes a grin.

Albus, who’s clearly been eavesdropping, pushes his wooden chair closer to the two of us – making a right royal racket in the process. I hit him softly in the arm and gesture towards Crankshaws office, but he ignores me and instead says to Scorpius.

“You’re not practicing for the game?”

Scorpius shakes his head, before Ed interrupts and says, “We’ve had more than enough practice to beat you lot,”

I poke my tongue out at him and say. “Dream on, Edgar,”

He narrows his chocolate eyes at me before going back to taking notes, and I smirk in satisfaction.

Git.

“It’s too bad you can’t make it,” Scorpius says genuinely, “Rumour has it that Finley Norcross and Brandon Lark are planning it this year. It’s going to be epic,”

I groan lowly, “Why can’t we have a Captain like you, Scorp?”

“If only you were so lucky,” He teases, just before a loud bang makes me jump and I turn abruptly to find the source of the noise.

Crankshaw had slammed his door, and was now glowering at the three of us unhappily.

“This is not a damn Quidditch Pitch, people! Miss Scamander and Mr Potter, ten points will be taken each from Gryffindor,”

“It was my fault, Professor, really,” Scorpius piped up and I threw him a look that said he didn’t need to.

Professor Crankshaw lets out a disappointed sigh, “The punishment stands, and twenty points will be taken from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy. Really, I expect better from you three,”

After the agonising hour and a half that is Alchemy has finished, Albus, Louis and I sprint from the room before Crankshaw can torture us any further.

As we make our way through the airy first floor corridors, I turn on the two of them.

“I think we should go to the Halloween party,”

They both look at me like I’ve spouted an extra leg, and Albus puts his hand against my forehead, pretending to check my temperature.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you high?”

“Did you get into Albus’ stash?”

“No, I – wait, what?”

“Halloween is _tomorrow_ ,” Louis states, ignoring my confusion, “That’s a Saturday, for those of you who are either unaware or just too plain stupid to notice,”

“A.K.A. James’ favourite day of the week,” Albus picks up where his best mate left off. “And we all know _why_ ,”

I let out a defeated sigh.

I knew all too well why it was James Potter’s favourite day of the week.

Because it was the first day of the week where he could force us all out onto the Pitch and not be distracted by anything as meaningless as classes, or even Godric forbid, meals.

“He’ll never let us go,” Louis states simply, and begins to walk off, with Albus trailing behind him.

I chase after them quickly.

“Well, what if I managed to convince him?”

“You?” Albus lets out a snort of laughter, and I punch him in the arm for his lack of faith.

He glares at me and rubs at the injury sulkily.

“Come on, Ly, you don’t exactly have the best track record for being in his good books,”

I sniff indignantly.

“Things are different now I’ll have you know. We’re… friends,”

Louis lets out a bark of laughter.

“Well, _friend_ , if you somehow achieve the impossible of convincing our dear Captain to give us the weekend off, then I’ll show up to the Halloween Feast wearing a dress,”

I consider the prospect, and a small smile tugs on the corner of my lips.

“Deal,”

**

After my detention that evening had finally finished, I dragged myself through the portrait hole, past the ever-charming Fat Lady, and into the Gryffindor common room.

Having missed both dinner _and_ Quidditch practice, and instead spent my evening cleaning the distillation equipment in the Alchemy classroom with a toothbrush, I was in what you could only describe as the foulest of moods.

As I enter I glance at Albus who’s playing a game of Exploding Snap with Wade in front of the fireplace while Louis lazes nearby, waiting to play the winner. Bash, who’s sitting sideways in an armchair and scratching away on a piece of parchment with his quill , whistles lowly as I pass by and sings.

“ _Somebody’s in trouble_ ,”

I throw him an obscene hand gesture, ignoring his dark chuckle, as I let myself fall down onto the couch next to Pippa, who’s currently studying for what I can only guess is Divination, judging by the cover of her book.

There’s a few other students scattered around the tables and chairs in the room, either playing games or working on homework assignments. The fireplace burns brightly and the warm flames illuminate the room, filling it with the scent of logs crackling on the open fire. The chairs that circled the grand fireplace were the most popular by far, and having the large group of friends that we did we were almost always the first to covet them on evenings like this.

 “How was detention?” Pippa questions perkily, her eyes still scanning the page in front of her, and I grit my teeth in frustration.

“A bloody fairy picnic, as usual. How was practice?”

“The _Captain_ isn’t happy,” Roxanne, who’s sitting on a nearby armchair and painting her nails a shade of coral-red, says, and I narrow my sapphire eyes.

Of course he isn’t. No doubt he’ll have me running bloody laps until the game next weekend just for missing one, lousy practice.

I bite on my lower lip in frustration.

There goes my chance of convincing him to let us have the weekend off.

It’s now almost as impossible as my madcap plan of getting him to fall in love with me, which I can tell you is also going _horribly_.

“You look depressed,” Pippa announces from the couch beside me as she prods my leg with her toe, which is clad in a green and orange spotted sock, “Cheer up,”

I send her a pointed stare.

“You’re reading a book called ‘ _Xylomancy – The Hidden Meaning of Twigs_ ’ and you think _I’m_ depressed?”

Pippa tuts and rolls her dark eyes.

“I’ll have you know that all branches of Divination are equally important,”

“Huh, branches – I see what you did there,”

“You’re insufferable,”

The sound of the portrait hole opening distracts me and I look up to see Lysander and James bustle through the common room trailed by a group of gushing girls. I instantly recognise one of them as Lydia Harlow and my mouth drops.

What the hell?

What. The. _Hell_.

The other girls I recognise as Lydia’s cronies and fellow Seventh Years. Marissa Darling is one of them – she wraps her arms around Lysanders neck and kisses him sloppily, her hair falling behind her in a waterfall of platinum blonde. The other two are Zoe Woodward, a petite girl with stylish, cropped brown hair and Saffi Kapur, who has the most enviable forest-green eyes and olive skin.

I heard a rumour that Saffi was the reason why James and his old girlfriend, Nora Entwhistle, broke up last year. Apparently Nora caught the two of them making out during a party and dumped him then and there.

Not a big loss, in my opinion.

I almost gag at the sight of Marissa with my brother until my eyes are drawn to where James and Lydia are talking behind them. It doesn’t surprise me to see my moron of a brother hanging out with his equally stupid play-thing, but what the hell is _James_ doing with _Lydia_?

James has his Quidditch bag hanging from his shoulder, and his hair is glistening where it’s still damp. He’s wearing a black sweater and a pair of our Gryffindor uniform track pants – scarlet red with a gold stripe running down each side.

I swear I have no idea how he manages to wear those ugly old things, and still look like a Ralph Lauren model.

When I wear them I look like I’m about to jump out of an airplane and use them as a parachute.

Damn Potter genes.

I guess that he came straight from the Pitch, obviously running into the _leech_ at his side on his way up here.

He’s smiling at Lydia as she talks to him – her twirling a long strand of black hair around her fingers as she does so and him grinning like an idiot. And then she laughs – a girlish, tinkling giggle – and pushes him in the arm playfully, rolling her cornflour-blue eyes.

Ugh, I see what you’re doing there you hyped-up bimbo.

Don’t think that you can get in the way of my plans.

Lydia’s Father is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, and because of this, she seems to think that it gives her some sort of importance. But really she’s just a stuck-up, miserable cow with a permanent bitchy resting face and a reputation for sleeping around.

I suddenly have the savage urge to send a Bat-Bogey hex her way.

Clearly, I’m not very fond of her.

I’m interrupted from glaring at Lydia sourly by Roxy prodding me with her quill, and raising her eyebrows at me in question. I motion with my head to the scene I’ve been watching, and Roxy’s hazel eyes follow suit.

Her face crumples in disgust.

After a minute more, the four girls break away from James and Lysander, and head towards the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Lydia’s sharp eyes scan the group of us uninterestedly as she passes, with Saffi chattering animatedly in her ear beside her.

I hear Pip squeak quietly and turn to find Lysander standing in front of us.

He lets out a grunt as he pushes his way onto the couch between Pippa and I and swings an arm around my shoulder before saying in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Lyra, I have to tell you that your failings in life thoroughly entertain me,”

I let out a shriek of disgust before pushing him away roughly, and coincidentally into Pip who starts stuttering like an idiot as she straightens herself out.

“Oh, Bell – what _are_ you reading?” Lysander asks as he turns his attention to her instead, though I ignore the both of them because I’m too busy trying to hide behind the crimson cushion I’ve picked up to cover my face and pray to the high heavens that James Potter forgets my very existence if even for a moment.

“There’s no use trying to hide, Lyra,”

I hear his voice, deep and gravelly, as he squeezes himself in between Lysander and me and snatches the cushion from my hands.

What is it with this guy and his obsession with invading other people’s personal spaces?

This couch was clearly not meant to seat four people! I try to wriggle away to get more space, but fail miserably, so settle instead for staying crushed against the guy who is very likely going to kill me.

He clears his throat impatiently.

I pout and try to look innocent.

He stares at me pointedly.

“So, Lydia huh?” I say acidly, trying to change the subject.

James’ furrows his dark eyebrows at me.

“What?”

Ha, it worked!

“Are you and her, like, _dating_ or something?”

“What the… no, we’re not dating, you dolt. And stop trying to change the subject!” He says, exasperated. “You missed practice,”

“I had detention,”

He rolls his eyes tiredly and lets his head drop forwards into his hands.

“Again?” His voice comes out muffled, and all of a sudden I start to feel incredibly guilty.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for it to happen!” I say defensively, “You know how much Crankshaw hates me after what my Mum said to him about his hair,”

James’ sits back and looks at me, his hazel eyes glinting in the dim light, and then his lips quirk upwards.

“Have I told you how much I love Luna?” He says with a chuckle, “Okay, I believe you,”

I falter, and then narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.

He seems to be in an awfully happy mood.

“Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to murder me, or kick me off the Team or anything equally horrible?”

He shrugs and leans back against the couch, folding his arms behind his head.

“I said we were friends, didn’t I? I’m trying here,”

“Oh,” I say quietly, before I’m distracted by Lysander thrusting his hand past James and dropping a crumpled piece of parchment in my lap. I smooth it out and look it over, realising that it’s the letter from our Mum.

_To my darlings,_

_I hope your classes are going wonderfully well and that you’re keeping out of trouble. Your Dad and I are in Southern Peru where we’ve been commissioned to identify a poisonous species of beetle who has been giving the local people terrible trouble. It’s a very serious situation; this may even be a Class Four that we’ve got on our hands! But don’t worry we will be home in time for Christmas. We’ve already made plans for Christmas lunch with your Grandpa and then will be attending Harry and Ginny’s annual party later on that evening. We are both looking forward to seeing you all very much!_

_All my love,_

_Mum._

_P.S Lorcan – Please remember to eat in between studying for your N.E.W.Ts._

_P.P.S Lysander – Be nice to your sister. And please study for your N.E.W.Ts._

_P.P.P.S Lyra – Quidditch is wonderful, but classes are also important._

As I finish reading, I notice James’ who has been reading the letter over my shoulder.

Jeez – nosey, much?

“Your Mum’s so sweet,” He comments lightly as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch behind me. “I wish mine was like that,”

I look at him like he’s crazy. My Mum’s cool, yeah, but Ginny Potter had been Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies _and_ now wrote as the Senior Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet.

She’s pretty much my idol.

“What are you talking about? Your Mum’s _amazing_ ,”

“And hot,” Lysander adds with a grin, earning a smack over the head from Pippa’s twig book and a death glare from James.

“You may be my best mate Lys, but say that about my Mum again and the next Quaffle I throw will be aimed at your Golden Snitch,” James growls, indicating to Lysanders crotch, “You’ve been warned,”

Lysander gulps and turns back to Pippa and her book.

“So, twigs huh?”

I look at James, amused, and he throws me a careless wink before eyeing the necklace that’s hanging around my neck.

Yeah, the one with the bottlecaps.

I know it’s kind of silly, okay? But wearing it makes me feel better!

“You’re still wearing that thing?” He questions in disbelief, “What is it, anyway?”

_Be nice_ , I mentally warn myself.

I finger the bottle caps and say tentatively.

“It… keeps Frosthoppers away,”

James winces.

“Oh, Frosthoppers – _nasty_ things,”

My eyes widen. Could someone else actually know what they are?

“You know about them?!” I sit up in excitement, and James puts a hand on my shoulder before saying seriously.

“I was being sarcastic, Ly… wait, you actually think they’re _real_?”

I feel my face burning red, and I shrink backwards into the couch. “Well… I don’t know, maybe,”

James starts to laugh, deep and throaty, and I push him into Lysander in retaliation, who complains loudly.

“Let me look at this thing,” He says, grabbing at the necklace and pulling it up over my head.

“No! Not if you’re just going to laugh at it,” I scold, snatching the necklace back from his hands. He tickles me in the side before taking it back easily and holding it out my reach.

I growl under my breath and kneel on the couch, reaching above him to take it back from his hand. I can feel his laughter through my body as I lean against him and close my hand over the necklace.

I pull on it, hard, but James doesn’t let go, and all of a sudden I’m falling backwards and I hit the carpeted floor with a thud, and then let out a moan of pain as James falls on top of me.

Ow, I think I broke… _everything_.

James’ body pins me to the floor, his hands propping himself up on either side of my head, and I can tell you now that it’s anything but pleasant.

I groan and push at his chest.

“Get off me, will you,”

He looks down at me with a playful grin, his dark hair falling over his face, and then Louis calls out.

“Will you two shut it! I’m trying to concentrate here,”

Good one, Louis. Because Exploding Snap is _such_ an intellectual game.

James rolls off me and onto his back, almost crying with laughter.

“Be careful, Ly, I think I saw a Dinglefluff over in that corner earlier,” He chuckles – his broad shoulders shuddering with the movement of doing so.

I hit him in the stomach and he lets out a satisfying groan of pain.

Ha! Try laughing at me now, you jerk.

He throws my necklace back at me before stretching out across the floor to watch Louis, who’s now playing the reigning champion of Exploding Snap, Wade.

“Hey, Al, how’d you enjoy your sleep this morning?” I hear him ask his brother, amused, and Albus’ heated reply of, “I should’ve known that was you!”

I scowl as I put my necklace on back over my blonde ponytail and tuck it inside my top, then sit back on the floor and lean against the couch. I can feel someone’s eyes burning into me and I scan the room before noticing Bash, watching me through stormy grey eyes.

I narrow my eyes at him.

He widens his.

Then he looks over at Roxy.

Then I look at Roxy.

Roxy studies me curiously, and then raises her eyebrows.

I raise my eyebrows.

Roxy looks at Bash.

I look at Bash.

Bash raises his eyebrows, before going back to scribbling on his parchment.

Roxy shrugs her shoulders, and keeps painting her nails.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I shake my head and climb back onto the couch next to Lysander, who’s deep in conversation with Pippa about the difference between reading a _twig_ prediction and a _branch_ one.

_Weirdos._

Maybe Lysander has a secret passion for Divination.

I look around the room, bored, and it suddenly strikes me that this is the perfect time to try to put my plan into action.

_Try_ being the operative word. 

“Anyone fancy a game of Chess?” I address the group loudly, only to be met by a few small moans and groans.

“I’ll play!” Albus pipes up, though I avoid any and all eye contact with him.

“Anyone at all?”

“I said I would!”

“Anyone who’s name isn’t Albus Potter,”

“Yeah, I’ll give it a go, Ly,”

“Or Bastian Knox,”

Silence.

I clear my throat loudly and nudge James in the foot. He looks back at me over his shoulder.

“Ow – what do you want now? Do you need saving from a Dapperblimp or something?”

Hey! Dapperblimps are a serious threat in these parts of Scotland.

But they only live in lakes.

Everyone knows that.

_Be friendly_ , I tell myself.

“Chess?” I beam happily, ignoring the comment, and James scowls darkly at me.

“Fine – but don’t throw the pieces at me when you lose. I still have that scar on my nose from last time,”

“Ha!” I laugh, pushing myself up off the couch and sauntering over to the chess board which is propped up in the corner between two high-backed chairs, “Me? Lose?”

James follows behind me, pulling his sweater up over his head, revealing a faded black t-shirt underneath with some name of a rock-band on it, before sitting across from me and looking over the board, “Lyra – you’re terrible at Chess. Don’t pout, you know it’s true!”

I relax my lips and raise my eyebrows.

“We’ll see about that,”

James snorts as he reaches over to rearrange his pieces, and I take advantage of the chance to talk to him, tapping my fingers against the table nervously.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,”

“Oh, here we go,” He rolls his hazel eyes before leaning back in his chair and giving me a pointed look. “What do you want now?”

I scowl at him darkly, I can’t help myself.  “Don’t take that tone with me!”

“What tone?”

“ _That_ one!”

“Merlin, you sound like my sister,”

I stop and blink dumbly.

This is _so_ not a good path to be on.

“So,” I begin, ignoring his comment and trying to muster a disgusting amount of mock sweetness, “Tomorrow is Halloween,”

James leans so far back in his chair that it balances on only the two back legs, and he folds his arms across his broad chest.

“And?”

“And,” I continue, drawing in a deep breath “As you very well know there’s a little thing called the Halloween Feast… and then the party… and-it-would-be-really-great-if-you-could-cancel-practice-just-for-the-weekend,”

The corner of James mouth quirks upwards into a small grin.

“Sorry, what was that last part?”

“The Team… and me… me and the Team,” I try to explain, but find myself becoming increasingly flustered under James’ gaze, “Well we want to go, and like… not practice,”

James bites his bottom lip in thought.

Oh… my… _Godric_.

What is he doing?

Why does he look so good doing that?

What is this sorcery?!

I think I’m going to start hyper-ventilating.

“Lyra,” James starts, his voice silky smooth, and I clutch the sides of my chair to prevent myself from sliding right off it.

What the hell is happening to me?

“The match against Slytherin is next Saturday – this is the last weekend we have to practice before one of the biggest games of the year, and you want me to just… cancel?”

I let out a small squeak, still in a complete and utter daze.

 “You missed practice today, because you landed yourself in detention again, and you want me to _cancel_?"

“Uh-huh,”

“No,” James answers firmly, before letting out a slightly maniacal laugh, “No way in hell,”

My shoulders slump slightly. There’s only one thing left to do.

_Beg._

“Come on, you _know_ we’re ready for this match,” I try, though James waves a hand at me dismissively, “We’ve been practicing non-stop since we came back to school. That’s two whole months! Don’t you think we deserve this?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, and I say stubbornly.

“Scorpius and his team are going,”

Immediately, he stops, and I smirk in satisfaction.

He studies the board for a few minutes, before fixing his bright eyes on me – something in them glinting with the prospect of a challenge.

“Okay, let’s make a wager,” He announces, sitting forwards in his chair. His black hair falls over his eyes and he sweeps it back swiftly.

“If you win this game against me I’ll cancel practice both Saturday and Sunday, so you can go off to your little Halloween dance,”

I lean back and cross my arms across my chest.

“First of all, it’s not a _dance_. And secondly… what if I lose?”

James lips twist into a dark grin.

“Then the entire Team will practice both days, every waking hour, and you won’t so much as mumble the word _Halloween_ ,”

I glance over at the rest of the Team who are lazing around by the fire and consider my options.

If I lose (which is highly likely) then we’ll be forced to practice all weekend, possibly missing the Feast and almost certainly missing the party, if simply from exhaustion alone. And let’s face it, no-one wants to get up for practice the next day with a raging hangover and an evil dictator for a Captain.

But on the other hand, if I win (which is highly unlikely) not only will we be able to attend both the Feast and the party, but we’ll have two whole days of no Quidditch and I’ll quite literally be a hero to the rest of the team.

And being completely honest with myself, if I did absolutely nothing, James would probably make us practice non-stop anyway, so what did I have to lose, really?

“Okay,” I say, even if it is rather half-heartedly.

James grins so wide that his teeth glint in the dim light of the room and he begins the game.

“Pawn to E4,”

Half an hour later James has had both my knights, one rook, one bishop and four pawns blasted to smithereens, and is well on his way to taking out my Queen, whilst I’ve only managed to take out two measly pawns and a bishop.

He was right – I really am terrible at Chess.

It only takes a few more moves to end things for me.

“Checkmate,” He announces with delight, and I bite my bottom lip, holding back my disappointment.

James chuckles at my expression, before standing up and ruffling my hair.

 “You should have chosen something more on your level, Ly,” He says, his voice laced with amusement, “Like Snap. And not Exploding Snap – the regular kind,”

“Sod off,” I mumble as I dismiss the comment and begin to head back to the group. James grips my arm and pulls me back towards him.

He looks down at me, his expression softened, and I feel something strange flitter in my stomach.

“Lyra…” He starts, but then stops and bites his lip in thought.

OH MY GOD WOULD YOU STOP DOING THAT, JAMES POTTER.

“I’ll cancel practice,”

“You… what?”

“Like you said, we’re ready for the game. Well, that and I don’t want to deal with you moping around all weekend,”

I let out a squeal and throw my arms around his neck, burying my head in his shoulder and feeling his chest rise and fall as he chuckles at my outburst.

He smells clean, like soap and cologne and the scent of him invades my senses.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I say breathlessly, before pulling back and grinning up at him, his arm still around my waist.

My breath catches in my throat suddenly and I think for a moment that he looks different to me somehow. Calmer, maybe – not so much like the enraged, psycho Quidditch freak that I had always seen him as.

A wolf whistle distracts me and the sound of Wade calling, “Get a room!” and I back away from James in a hurry before noticing the group gawking at us in amusement.

We head back over to the group together, and I bounce onto Louis immediately, tackling him to the ground and crying.

 “WE’RE GOING TO THE HALLOWEEN PARTY! And _you_ are wearing a dress,”

“Merlin, no,”

 

**

 

A/N: Yay new chapter! So, it's been a while... I really hope that you guys like it! I'm really enjoying writing this story but I find the characters a little bit harder for me to define, so let me know if you think you need more information or if there's anything you think I should add in? Feedback is always welcome! Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Candy and Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James’ eyes widen – only a fraction – and I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips, but the damage is already done.

I stalk out of the library and let loose a short breath, rubbing at my eyes lazily.  
  
Four _freaking_ hours.  
  
Four hours I had spent cooped up in that wretched place, amidst stacks of parchment and dusty, old books, working on my Defence against the Dark Arts assignment, when really I should have been enjoying my weekend outdoors in the sunshine like a _normal_ person.  
  
The only bright side to the morning, I suppose, is that I had managed to spend the entire session in the library without encountering a Book Mite, or even being _bitten_ by one. Granted, I had never actually _seen_ a Book Mite, but they live in between the pages of old books, ones that haven’t been opened in decades and have two sets of razor-sharp teeth and a sensitivity to light.  
  
Everyone knows that.  
  
I tuck the parchment I had been working on into my bag with a satisfied grin. Defence was probably my favourite class, if I was being forced to choose one, and the assignment was on the topic of dark creatures – a couple of which my parents had actually discovered over the past decade or so – so I may have had a slight advantage.  
  
A small twitch of a smile pulls at my lips as I hoist my bag further up my shoulder and think of Roxanne and Pippa, who are still stuck struggling with their Arithmancy essays in the library behind me.  
  
No way in hell am I waiting around for them when I could be out and about, doing whatever my heart desires.  
  
And Godric I _need_ air.  
  
But first, food.  
  
I saunter through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, humming to myself happily and only occasionally coming upon another student or two, before clambering through the portrait hole, guarded by the ever charming Fat Lady, and into the Gryffindor common room. I had plans to drop off my bag before heading down to the kitchens for a late lunch.  
  
I survey the room quickly, which is gloriously empty. This doesn’t surprise me as the day is uncharacteristically warm – evident by the sunshine beaming through the glass windows to pool on the carpeted floor beneath my feet. No doubt everyone is down by the lake enjoying what little sunshine remains, I think with a stab of jealousy.  
  
I stretch my arms above my head and let out a loud yawn, dropping my bag down onto a faded, crimson armchair and savouring the peace for a few moments.  
  
The fire is out, though a comforting warmth still hangs in the air and I can feel my eyes growing heavy under its presence.  
  
Maybe I should take a nap.  
  
_Food or sleep_ , I silently debate as I weigh up the options in my head.  
  
_Both_ , I decide after a moment, as it isn’t often that I actually have the luxury of obtaining the two of them on a regular basis.  
  
I blame James _bloody_ Potter for that.  
  
The sound of a footstep turns my head towards the staircase, just in time to see Bastian descending the stone steps that lead up to the dormitories. Fireworks explode somewhere deep in my stomach and I inhale sharply, stumbling over my words at the sight of him – his white t-shirt crumpled and his dark hair hanging in messy waves.  
  
“Bash, what are you doing up here?” I manage to stutter dumbly, and a grin slides across his face.  
  
“It might surprise you to learn that I actually have a dormitory in this tower.”  
  
I glower at the dark-haired boy, clicking my tongue and he chuckles at my impatience.  
  
“Slept late,” He explains, his grin lazy, and I raise my eyebrows.  
  
“It’s two in the afternoon,”  
  
“Yeah, well, N.E.W.T’s and everything,”  
  
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Like it’s some sort of valid explanation?”  
  
Bash chuckles again, taking the last few steps towards me where he flicks my nose playfully, “I don’t know about you, Ly, but some of us have more than Quidditch on our minds.”  
  
I wrinkle my nose against his attack and watch as he leans against the back of an armchair and crosses his arms across his chest. His expression darkens.  
  
“Unless you have something else on your mind,”  
  
The phrase rolls off his tongue more like a question, and I glare at him lightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
He shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“Maybe _someone_ else?”  
  
I let out a sharp sigh and wave my hand dismissively, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Knox, but I’m not falling for it,”  
  
I retrieve my bag from the armchair and brush past him irritably but he puts a hand on my arm to stop me, his stormy eyes questioning.  
  
After a moment he drops his hand and his head all at the same time and says, the casual amusement creeping back into his voice, “You know, I was going to head down to the lake to find the others – unless, you’d rather I stayed?”  
  
He turns towards me, grinning darkly, and I put a hand against his chest to stop him in his tracks and drawl, “Don’t even _think_ about it, Knox,”  
  
Bash lets his shoulders sink and his lips drop into a mock pout.  
  
“You used to be fun, Scamander,” He says with a playful tap under my chin and I hiss at him in impatience.  
  
“You are such a pain in the arse, Bash, honestly.”  
  
I turn to leave again but Bash snakes an arm around my waist, quick as a fox, and steps in closer, his eyes swimming with mischief.  
  
“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” He drawls and I tut lowly, trying to disagree with him but becoming increasingly flustered under his dark stare.  
  
My mind becomes thick with fog and I try desperately to stop myself from leaning into him – into his strong arms and broad chest – but fail miserably.  
  
“Come on, Ly,” His voice rolls over me in a silky whisper and my breath catches in my throat. “My mates are at the lake, yours are out – there’s no-one to disturb us,”  
  
My hands press against his chest, and then suddenly – _somehow_ – they find themselves wrapped around his neck, the ends of his dark, silken hair tickling my skin.  
  
I can’t move – I don’t want to. The way Bash is looking down at me, his lips slightly parted, is exactly what I’ve missed these past few months. And I know I shouldn’t – I _know_ that I have a plan to stick to, and that my brother would kill me, and my friends would think I’m a complete and utter idiot and… oh, to hell with all that.  
  
Bash tilts his head towards me and I can feel his breath, warm and sweet on my lips, and the thump of my heart in my chest.  
  
I want this. I want _him._  
  
The sound of the portrait hole opening distracts me and I pull back from Bash in an instant, rubbing my forehead to clear the fog, just in time to find a pair of hazel eyes under dark, furrowed eyebrows.  
  
“James,” I start when I recognise the intruders’ presence, but stop suddenly when I see the look of venom etched upon his handsome features.  
  
Immediately my heart lurches. What the hell have I done now? If Lysander finds out about anything that has ever happened between Bash and I, I’ll be worse than dead. And James… Godric, this is _so_ not helping the fact that I’m supposed to be making him fall for me, not letting myself get pulled in by his best friend!  
  
_Stupid, stupid, stupid._  
  
“I forgot… something,” James mumbles through gritted teeth, and I want to say something to him – I want to yell at him that it’s not what it looks like but it’s too late. He brushes past the two of us and up the stairs, out of sight.  
  
Bash chuckles lightly behind me and says, “ _Whoops_ ,” as he wraps an arm around my waist and draws me closer to him. A flash of anger strikes through me and I turn and push against his chest, hard enough so that he stumbles back a pace – a look of surprise flashing over his face. I shoot him a dark glare before turning and all but running up the wooden steps to my dormitory.  
  
I dart into the room and slam the door behind me with a bang – steadying myself by leaning up against the smooth wood for a moment as I let my eyes flitter closed.  
  
So _stupid._  
  
I wasn’t supposed to be letting myself get distracted – and by Bastian Knox of all people. Sure the two of us have a history together, and yeah I know that when I’m around him my self-control seems to whittle away into nothingness… but I have to be better than that. There is _nothing_ more that I want then to be Gryffindor Team Captain.  
  
I _have_ to keep my head in the game and focus on my plan. And that starts with somehow trying to convince James that what he saw between Bash and I was all a big misunderstanding.  
  
He’d totally believe that… right?  
  
I let out a frustrated growl and throw myself down on my bed and close my eyes tight, repeating the word _stupid, stupid, stupid,_ over and over in my head until a calmness settles over me once more.  
  
I must have drifted off to sleep because when I wake it’s to the sound of Roxanne yelling in my face for me to wake up and start getting ready. I roll onto my back with a groan, the haziness of sleep still clouding my brain as I notice the sun setting quickly outside the window, casting long shadows around the room.  
  
“Huh… what?” I utter stupidly, rubbing my eyes as I push myself up to the view of four teenage girls racing around like mad, clothes and makeup littering every bed in the room.  
  
Kit is balanced on the end of her bed as Rose, dressed in some sort of tattered wedding dress, smears a line of liquid black above her lashes, the charcoal of it matching the darkness of her latex cat-suit.  
  
Pippa is fussing with a red cloak around her neck, pulling the hood up over her long, mousy-hair and Roxanne… well, Roxanne looks stunning in a corseted full-length gown in the deepest shades of burgundy and black.  
  
For a moment I panic as I’m hit with the memory of the Halloween Party.  
  
“Roxy, I don’t have a costume!” I scream across the room at my best friend, who simply laughs dismissively.  
  
“Don’t panic, Ly, I’ve got it covered,” She finishes fussing with her curled hair before taking a paper bag from her bed and handing it to me. “I owled Victoire last night and she managed to get everything sent through by this afternoon. Bloody lifesaver!”  
  
I peer into the paper bag hesitantly to be met with the sight of sheer fabric and silver metal. Victoire Weasley is Roxanne’s cousin and Louis’ older sister and she designs her own high-fashion line for Witches. And now, apparently, costumes as well.  
  
I’ve seen her collections before – and let me tell you, although they are beautiful, they are most definitely something I could _not_ pull off.  
  
I take out one of the items, an emerald green corset interlaced with silver thread, and inspect it critically.  
  
Roxanne, seeing the look of utter distaste etched upon my face, tuts at me.  
  
“Just put it on, will you. I’ll be right back, I have something for Louis!” She giggles  before she dashes from the room, holding a bundle of red cloth against her.  
  
I let out a defeated sigh and skulk to the bathroom where I quickly shower before throwing on the costume, cringing at the flimsy fabric.  
  
When I emerge into the room, hands on hips unhappily, Roxy ushers me towards the mirror where I gaze at my reflection with an upturned nose. The corset is a perfect fit, with sheer sleeves that cover my shoulders, but it’s so short that it stops just above my belly button, leaving a whole sliver of exposed skin. A long, gauzy skirt covers my lower half with splits up both sides that are so high I quietly thank Merlin that there are a pair of tight-fitted shorts – even if they looked more like underwear –  provided for me to wear. The costume is finished off with a pair of silver, high-heeled sandals and emerald, gloves that leave my fingers bare and run up and over my elbows.  
  
I wrinkle my nose at Roxy in pure displeasure.  
  
 “What the _hell_ is this supposed to be?”  
  
Roxy pushes me over to sit on her bed and starts on my makeup, while rolling her eyes at my tone. “An elf, _duh_ – like from one of those Muggle games that James likes to play. You _are_ still carrying on with that mad plan of yours, aren’t you?”  
  
I hesitate – the memory of the afternoon flittering through my mind uncomfortably.  
  
“Uh, yeah, I guess…”  
  
“Then he’ll love it!” She declares, and I let her fuss with my makeup and then brush my long hair out so the golden tendrils fall over my shoulders in soft waves. Then, much to my protest, she places a delicate silver headpiece over my hair, with an emerald jewel that sits right in the centre, just above my hairline.  
  
She marvels at her work on me for a moment, clapping her hands in delight before bouncing off to check her own costume in the floor length mirror that sits beside the door.  
  
I take my bottle-cap necklace from my bedside table and pull it over my head before tucking it inside what little fabric actually covers my top half, deciding that my best friend is a complete _lunatic_ for letting me traipse around in the dead of Autumn so scantily clad.  
  
The five of us finish up and head out of the room, and I trail behind the rest of them, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as we leave.  
  
I don’t look like myself – in fact, I look quite ethereal, like I could be an elven princess come to life. The makeup glows on my skin, illuminating my eyes and although I had thought the costume was rather measly, it shows off my athletic curves in a way that makes them look more feminine.  
  
I know now that if there is anything that’s sure to catch the attention of James Sirius Potter, it’s _this_ … whatever it is.  
  
I tramp down the stairs behind the others, as gracefully as I can manage – which is about as graceful as a herd of one-legged Nifflers – and into the common room, which is mostly empty, save for two tall, male figures leaning against the back of a couch.  
  
I have to cover my mouth with a hand to keep from losing it in laughter at the sight of Louis – clad in a scarlet red, strapless dress and a pair of white sneakers. He looks less than impressed at the laughter that erupts from us all the moment we enter, though he eventually joins in on the amusement, despite himself.  
  
“Well, aren’t you all looking lovely this evening,” Albus quips – his eyes lingering on Kit and her black cat ears for a few seconds too long. I raise my eyebrows at him, dressed in a black sweater and trousers, and he swings an arm around my shoulders and crushes me against him.  
  
“Would you look at that – there was a _girl_ hiding under all that hostility all along,” He drawls and I punch him in the arm, if only to prove that even if I look delicate I could still very much kick his lazy arse.  
  
Albus winces and rubs the spot tenderly.

"So where's your costume?" I question the dark-haired boy who merely winks before grabbing a white sheet from the couch and throwing it over himself - peering out from two holes cut crudely into the material.

"I'm a ghost!" He exclaims and I resist the urge the laugh aloud. "Come on, I didn't exactly have time to plan anything."

" _Ridiculous..._ " I mutter, before he links his arm with mine and drags me towards the portrait hole and out into the freezing night air of the stone corridor.  
  
The cold hits me like a ton of bricks and Albus laughs and rubs at my arms, trying to erase the goose bumps while I shoot death glares at my best friend for her choice in my attire, who merely shrugs her innocence.  
  
_Sadistic wench._  
  
We reach the Great Hall to be welcomed by a breath-taking sight. The Halloween Feast is undoubtedly one of the best things about Hogwarts, and this year proves to be no exception. The group of us find a spot at the Gryffindor table and marvel at the array of food before us. Candy filled pumpkins, black cauldrons filled to the brim with lollipops of every flavour, glass bowls of a green, smoking punch with candied apples floating on top, and cakes and pastries of every different kind.  
  
I stuff myself full of sugary goodness, oblivious to anything else, even as dozens of bats fly around our heads and the castle ghosts provide the entertainment for the night. And when the Feast soon ends we traipse down the path to the lake.  
  
Scorpius had mentioned that this years party has been organised by Finley Norcross and Brandon Lark, two Slytherin Seventh Years who, although they aren’t good for much else, know how to throw one hell of a party.  
  
Immediately we’re met by a roaring bonfire and Pippa, Roxy and I make a bee-line for the fire and hold our frozen hands up to warm them against the heat. The wind is freezing and my teeth chatter against the chill of it. This costume better bloody well work some miracles tonight, or I will be seriously pissed.  
  
There are a few people scattered outside near the fire, but most of the noise is coming from a large, gauzy white marquee, which the sound of fast-paced dance music is spilling out of. After we’ve warmed we head inside, delighted to find that a heating charm had been placed on the space, and survey the scene.  
  
On the far end of the marquee is a large black bar, decorated with cobwebs and pumpkins and manned by barmen with skeletal faces. Dozens of costumed students have already taken to the large dancefloor in front of the bar, all dressed as vampires, zombies and other assorted horrors, with a scattering of fairies and royalty.  
  
Black couches and armchairs sit around the outskirts of the dancefloor, and it’s here that we girls rush to while Albus and Louis head to the bar for drinks. I fall down onto a couch between Roxy and Pippa, struggling with getting my skirt to sit right so it at least covers  _some_ of my modesty.  
  
Not that there’s much of it left.  
  
I shift uncomfortably in my seat for the thousandth time before giving up and letting the skirt sit however it wants.  
  
Louis and Albus arrive moments later with a tray full of a drink that is so dark it’s almost black. I take a swig from one of the glasses and almost splutter, much to Louis amusement, as the liquid burns my throat. After a few more sips, thankfully, that sensation dies down and is replaced by a dulling warmth.  
  
“Well, I expected this to be a hell of a lot more exciting,” Roxy complains from beside me after downing her drink and I pat her on the head.  
  
“You just need to drink more, Debbie Downer – Pip, come with me,”  
  
I grab Pippa by the arm, volunteering to get the next round of drinks as I do so. We barely make it halfway around the dancefloor, however, before I’m grabbed around the waist and met by the ice-blue eyes of Scorpius Malfoy who’s dressed in a perfectly cut tuxedo, with half of his face painted to look like a corpse. He presses a shot glass into my hand and winks at me.  
  
“Drink up!” He instructs me over the music, and I giggle in surprise and inspect the red-tinged liquid he’s just given me. He chuckles lowly.  
  
“No, it’s not poison – I wouldn’t stoop so low, even if you _are_ on the enemy team. Ed on the other hand though…”  
  
Ed Higgs appears at my other side, his arm slung around Pippas petite shoulders and I send him a mock glower, which he reciprocates with a hint of a smile.  
  
I toss the contents of the glass down my throat and wrinkle my nose at the sickly sweet, yet incredibly strong burn of it.  
  
“You’re a horribly bad influence, I hope you know that,” I tease Scorpius who bows and says.  
  
“I try my best,”  
  
He lets me link my arm through his and we make our way the bar – Pippa and Ed trailing behind us. Scorpius orders four more of the shots before looking over my costume.  
  
“You know, if you’re trying to catch that bloke’s eye you were talking about, you’re certainly doing a good job,”  
  
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” I send him a smile dripping with mock sweetness and he raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Are you going to tell me who he is yet?”  
  
“No chance,” I say, just as the bartender props our drinks in front of us and I toss mine down with a gulp.  
  
Scorpius shakes his head in amusement before taking his shot and saying. “I thought you might say that,”  
  
**  
  
Numerous drinks and a half dozen of those shots later and I’m all but stumbling off the dancefloor.  
  
Godric, I don’t think I’ve drunk this much in… well, ever.  
  
I place a hand on the bar, steadying myself. Whatever was in those drinks that Scorpius has been giving me, they were _strong_. A pleasant buzz of electricity runs through me and I giggle to myself like an idiot.  
  
The clink of a glass on the counter next to me distracts me and I turn to find Bastian Knox staring down at me with wide eyes. The electricity running through me increases tenfold and I suck in a deep breath in an attempt to keep my wits about me.  
  
Because holy crap he looks _good._  
  
Wearing a white, silk robe that clasps at the shoulder, leaving one side of his chest barely covered by a gold sash, my eyes are immediately drawn to his bronzed skin and I bite down on my lip, hard. Why, in the name of Merlins little toe does this have to happen to me _now_?  
  
Bash studies me through stormy eyes before speaking, his voice hoarse.  
  
“Woah, Ly – you look…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, save it Knox,” I manage to interrupt him with a wave of my hand, my voice strained as I try desperately to ignore the mad flittering of butterflies in my stomach.  
  
Bash, sensing my inner struggle, grins down at me and I inhale sharply, thinking of something, _anything_ to say that will keep my traitorous mind from thinking of what it would feel like to run my hands over his shoulders, and down his back and –  
  
“And who are you supposed to be?” I choke out, and Bash puts his hands on his waist.  
  
“Apollo – God of the Sun,”  
  
I roll my eyes at his dramatics.  
  
Bash doesn’t take his eyes off me, and a cold chill runs down my back, making me shudder.  
  
One of the skeletal barmen slams a couple of glasses down in front of us, making me jump.  
  
“Here, this will warm you up,” Bash says, amused, handing me a glass full of an amber-coloured liquid. I take a tentative sniff and recognise it immediately as Firewhisky.  
  
I take a large gulp from the glass, thankful for the distraction, though immediately regret it as my throat feels like it’s set on fire. It takes a few seconds for the burning to subside, and afterwards, a welcome warmth spreads its way through my body, enveloping me.  
  
I chance a glance at Bash, only to find him smirking at me – his white teeth gleaming – and my heart lurches in my chest.  
  
He’s going to ruin this plan of mine; I can see it all now.  
  
And I’m going to let him.  
  
He inches closer towards me. Close enough that I can smell the scent of citrus and musk drifting off his skin from his cologne  
  
His hand is on my arm, and then he’s taking the glass from my hand and setting it on the bar beside us, and then he’s leaning closer and closer, until the scent of Firewhisky is rolling from his lips onto mine and I let my eyes flitter shut, craving the taste of him.  
  
And then… nothing happens.  
  
I crack my eyes open a slit to see that Bash has taken a hasty step backwards and is staring at something over my shoulder, his brow furrowed. I turn in fury to glare at whoever had ruined my moment and find Lysander, James and Wade heading towards the pair of us.  
  
I curse them under my breath, surveying their costumes with a wrinkled nose – Lysander wearing a white toga with a headpiece of golden leaves. Wade is clad in sapphire, silk robes which are clasped over one shoulder and leave part of his chest and his tanned arms bare. And James… my heart almost stops beating as my eyes roam over James, who is wearing black, leather pants and a velvet tunic which is so intricately detailed that I half expect him to announce that he’s the lord of the underworld himself.  
  
Zeus, Poseidon and Hades.  
  
I have to force myself from gagging at the sight of them.  
  
“Merlin’s beard – Ly, didn’t anyone tell you? You were supposed to actually wear a _costume_ to the party, not your underwear,” Lysander drawls and I flip him an obscene hand gesture, feeling increasingly unnerved under James’ penetrative stare.  
  
“That’s funny considering you chose to come dressed as a bed sheet,” I snap at my brother, who snarls at me as I stalk past him, glass in hand, just as Lydia Harlow and her gang of dimwitted friends, Marissa Darling, Saffi Kapur and Zoe Woodward, slink up to the three of them, each clad in a more horribly tacky ensemble then the last.  
  
All four of them shoot me venomous glares but I ignore the lot of them and stalk away in search of my friends, still cursing my brother under my breath.  
  
_Moronic, arrogant git and his stupid, entirely too good-looking friends._  
  
I push my way through the throngs of people, who were either chattering loudly or dancing, until I spot the tell-tale red gown of Louis and I start heading in the direction of him and Albus – that is until I’m grabbed by the arm and pulled out of the marquee and into the cold night air.  
  
I whip around in an instant to face my kidnapper, only to be met by the cold, hazel eyes of James Potter, glinting under the moonlight with an emotion that I can’t quite place.  
  
“What the hell?” I say by way of greeting, and James raises his dark eyebrows at me before snarling lowly.  
  
“I know about you and Bash,”  
  
I exhale sharply.  
  
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,”  
  
If my voice hadn’t given it away, the widening of my eyes certainly did.  
  
_Good one, Lyra._  
  
I need to think of a way to get out of this – _fast_. But the swirling in my head and the pounding in my chest is doing absolutely nothing to help me.  
  
James ruffles his dark hair, which was previously slicked back until he did so, and growls. “Come on, do you really think that Knox could keep a secret like that? He told me about it last year – first chance he got,”  
  
I swear under my breath and make a mental note to murder Bastian Knox in his sleep. I don’t know what James expects me to say to him, but as I notice the coldness in his eyes, even as they reflect the gleaming bonfire, all I know is that any hope I had of making him fall for me has been completely and utterly squashed. There is no way in hell that he’ll fall for it now.  
  
I’ve completely ruined everything.  
  
James picks at an invisible piece of lint on his shirt and drawls darkly.  
  
“I didn’t think you were that kind of girl,”  
  
Red, hot anger flashes behind my eyes in an instant and I spit venomously. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
He lazily flicks his hazel eyes up and down my body, indicating to the skimpy costume I’m wearing – as if it’s proof enough.  
  
I resist the savage urge to slap him and instead snarl. “Why do you care anyway?”  
  
James lips twist into a dark scowl and he growls. “I don’t, Lyra. I really _don’t_ give a shit. Go and do whatever the hell you want,”  
  
He turns on his heel and stalks off back to the marquee and I scowl at his retreating back, wishing I had thrown my drink in his face before he left. Why the hell I thought I ever wanted to make him fall in love with me, I don’t know. He can keep his stupid captaincy. He can keep the whole bloody team, for all I care. I’ll quit first thing Monday morning and laugh when I see them struggle without me.  
  
I take in a lungful of air to steady myself and clear the heated thoughts from my head. What am I saying? I’m not going to quit…  
  
James can shove his bloody Captaincy up his arse, however. I don’t want any of it. I look up at the inky sky, at the millions of twinkling bright lights above, and my head spins. I don’t know how long I stand there, lost in my own mind before I hear someone calling my name from behind me.  
  
I spin to find a mousy-haired girl almost falling right into me, her freckled nose flushed, and her red cape twisted around her. I laugh and catch Pippa by the arm before she falls forward onto the fire.  
  
“Did you see Lysander? He looks… so…so,” She says, her voice a slur of words and I halt her abruptly.  
  
“If you know what’s best for you Bell you will _not_ finish that sentence.”  
  
She giggles at my tone and asks, “What are you doing out here by yourself?”  
  
I gaze at her affectionately and chuckle, pushing the thought of James _idiot_ Potter out of my head. “Nothing. How about we go and dance?”  
  
_But not before I beat Scorpius and Ed for getting you in this state to begin with..._  
  
She perks up immediately at the sound of those words and drags me by my hand back into the marquee where we meet up with Albus, Louis, Scorpius and Ed, and the other girls from my dorm and push our way into the centre of the dance floor to hold our own epic dance battle, all thoughts of James Potter and Bastian Knox slipping out of my mind and into the night.  
  
I face off against Louis, who in his elegant gown has no chance of winning against me and I squeal in delight as he spins me around the dancefloor and then dips me low, before Scorpius is at my side pushing another drink into my hands and clinking his glass against my own.  
  
I down it with a gulp and when the next slow song plays I dance with Roxanne who says in my ear over the music, her voice laced with laughter, “You know – my cousin hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night,”  
  
I roll my eyes at her.  
  
_Good one, Weasley._  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“I think you know.”  
  
I stop myself from looking around the marquee and finding those hazel eyes – I don’t want to know about it.  
  
So I dance, and drink, and dance some more until my cheeks are flushed and my skin is slick and I crave the feeling of a cool breeze on my body. I escape the stifling tent and stumble out into the air, taking a few paces away from the still roaring bonfire, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of the cold on my skin.  
  
Roxy must be mad if she thinks James has any kind of interest in me, as she had implied. I’m sure the only reason for him keeping an eye on me is so he could make sure I didn’t slip off with Bash – or maybe so _if_ I did he could run straight to Lysander and expose the whole thing like the weasel he is.  
  
My head begins spinning, and I can’t think about it any longer – the very thought of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.  
  
I pace further away from the party, and soon a hushed giggle draws my attention, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my head snaps towards the source of the noise, which is coming from around the corner of the large marquee. I tip-toe towards a grove of trees, letting my curiosity get the best of me, and stop dead in my tracks after stumbling around the corner, my eyes wide in shock.  
  
Saffi Kapur is pressed against the trunk of a large oak tree, her golden skin glowing with shadowed moonlight and her slim arms wrapped around the neck of a familiar raven-haired boy. He kisses her hungrily, his hands roaming wherever they please on her body and I must have made a noise because all at once Saffi’s emerald eyes are narrowed at me and her lips are curled in utter distaste.  
  
I’m not worrying myself with her, however. I’m much too busy narrowing my own eyes at James Potter.  
  
“Shit,” He swears under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair.  
  
“ _Disgusting_ ,” Is the only word I throw at him before I storm away, swaying only a little, towards the welcoming darkness of the Black Lake. I hear him call my name, once, from behind me but I ignore it. I’m trying desperately instead to steady the shaking of my hands which have balled themselves into fists at my side when I finally reach the lake and pause at the edge of it.  
  
A sensation that feels like warm poison creeps through my bloodstream – infecting every cell inside of me to the point where I want to scream over the nothingness of the lake. _Anything_ to rid myself of this awful feeling.  
  
My head pounds as the poison envelopes me and I grit my teeth against a strangled scream, envisioning how satisfying it would feel to punch Saffi Kapur in her _perfect bloody face._  
  
I settle instead for kicking a nearby tree, and swear loudly as a shot of pain runs through my foot.  
  
The crack of a twig behind me has me spinning around, glaring at the darkness. James appears a moment after, and a snarl escapes me.  
  
“Lyra, I–“ He starts, but I interrupt him – my voice dripping with venom.  
  
“Saffi Kapur, _really_?” I hiss, my voice sounding so harsh and bitter that it’s like it belongs to another person entirely. “It’s bad enough that you cheated on Nora Entwhistle with that piece of trash but to go back there… it’s pathetic, really,”  
  
I’m so angry – so _furious_ – and I can’t understand why. The feeling overwhelms me and I grit my teeth against it.  
  
James eyes flash white with a boiling rage and he points an accusing finger at me.  
  
“So you’re the only one who can sneak around behind everyone’s backs, huh? Is that it?”  
  
His voice is like gravel, grinding against my skin, and I turn away and throw my hands up in exasperation, screaming into the darkness and unleashing the peak of my fury.  
  
“God, you are such an insufferable prat, you know that?”  
  
“Yeah? Well what does that make you?”  
  
I whirl to face him, only to find that he has stalked much too close and we’re standing chest to chest – his breath heavy as he narrows his eyes down at me. I don’t move – I won’t back down from him.  
  
“You call me pathetic but tell me, little salamander, _why_ are you really so mad?”  
  
His voice escapes through gritted teeth and my nostrils flare wide, but he doesn’t stop.  
  
“Jealous, perhaps?”  
  
I snort and roll my eyes darkly.  
  
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter – as if I would ever stoop so low,”  
  
I don’t know if it’s the starlight glinting off his face or if he actually looks pained for a fraction of a second, but I don’t care. I steel myself against him and keep my face impassive. He’s not going to win this game.  
  
James lets out a dark, unnerving laugh. “Because you’re so damn high and mighty, huh Scamander? You expect to have only the best of everything, delivered on a silver platter, is that it? _Is that why you chose Knox_?”  
  
My temper flares at his words and I spit venomously. “That’s not me and you _fucking_ know it! You’re only describing yourself – _son_ of the world-famous Harry Potter.”  
  
James’ eyes widen – only a fraction – and I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips, but the damage is already done.  
  
James chiselled jaw clenches visibly before he lets out a dark, amused breath and scans me through hazel eyes – his mother’s eyes.  
  
I bite on my bottom lip as a tidal wave of shame and guilt washes over me – I can’t believe what I’ve just said to him. Because the truth is that I adore his family as much as if they were my very own. We had always shared everything together – every special occasion, every achievement.  
  
But I’m so blind – blinded by fury, and bitterness that I refuse to back down. I try to walk off, but James grips me by the arm and stops me.  
  
“Take that back, Lyra,” He hisses, and I square my jaw against him.  
  
“No,”  
  
His head whips towards me – his dark hair falling into his eyes and he exhales sharply, scanning the silver chain that hangs around my neck.  
  
I cry out as he pulls at the necklace, hard, and the chain breaks from around my neck. He holds it in front of my face and snarls at me.  
  
“You stupid, naïve idiot. There’s _no_ such thing as a Frosthopper, or a Dapperblimp, or a _goddamn_ Crumple-Horned Snorlack! Grow up!”  
  
I watch, helplessly, as he heaves the necklace across the glittering lake where it lands with a splash, too far out to see, and disappears.  
  
He wanted to get back at me for what I had said to him – I know that. But he knows – he _knows_ that my Mother’s greatest ambition in life is to finally find proof of the Crumple-Horned Snorlacks existance, as silly as it sounds, it’s something that had _always_ been important in our family.  
  
And _he knows it._  
  
I look at him for a moment with warm, disbelieving tears pooling in the corners of my eyes before the rush of pure, heated rage hits me again and again like a wave of fire and I push against his chest, hard.  
  
“I hate you!” I hiss at him, venom lacing every syllable. I push past him and hurry through the darkness of the trees towards where the marquee stood bright and still – a glowing sentinel.  
  
I don’t care about my stupid plan anymore. All I care about is the fact that I _hate_ James Potter, and I hate Saffi Kapur, and if I don’t get another drink in me soon I will lose my _freaking_ mind.  
  
I reach the tent and push through the throes of people inside, aiming only to reach that crazy group of people who I know can calm the pain and hurt raging through me.  
  
It wasn’t until I was wrapped in the arms of Albus Potter that I let the tears fall.  
  
**  
  
I wake the next day to the pounding of a hammer in my head and a parched desert in my mouth. I crack my eyes open a fraction, instantly regretting it when the light stings at my eyes. It’s only when I attempt to open them the second time, with the aim of searching for a glass of water, that I wonder where the hell I actually am.  
  
I can feel something warm against me, and immediately I panic.  
  
A body.  
  
_What the hell!_  
  
I whip my head to the side and find a foot next to my face and I groan lowly – relaxing gradually as I realise exactly where I am. Something warm stirs against me and I hear the low, gravelly voice of Albus coming from the other end of the bed.  
  
“Bloody hell – what day is it?”  
  
I exhale slowly  and prop myself up on my elbows, before peering at the dark haired boy and croaking, “Water.”  
  
He obliged by tossing a plastic water bottle down to me, which I gulp gratefully, before falling back against the pillow and exclaiming, “What the bloody hell happened last night!”  
  
“Well,” Albus starts, his voice hoarse with sleep. "The whole bloody lot of us were too wasted to get you back to your own dormitory for one. Oh! And Louis made out with Kit Finnegan,”  
  
I cover the startled cry of laughter that escaped from my mouth and hear Louis stirring in the next bed before he adds, his voice sounding full of pain. “You threw half your drink on Kapurs shoes,”  
  
I groan – knowing only too well the type of confrontation that would have led to, though I can only remember bits and pieces.  
  
“She started going absolutely mental at you, Ly – don’t you remember? It was kind of terrifying,” Albus says with a shudder and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember.  
  
“Then James came along and told her to shove off and leave you alone, and then you kind of… slapped him,” Louis says and I bolt upright to look at them both. Surely that’s not the truth… I couldn’t have… oh, Godric – he’s going to kick me off the team _for sure_.  
  
“What the bloody hell happened with you and my brother last night, may I ask?” Albus’ emerald eyes pierce me with curiosity, “You were sobbing so hard you soaked my shirt – I had to go topless the rest of the night!”  
  
“I’m sure that was _so_ painful for you,” I drawl and cosy back into my pillow, not wanting to think any more about the prat that was James Potter. He can go to hell for all I care – let him kick me off the team, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.  
  
The door bangs open suddenly and my blood chills as a familiar gravelly voice says, “Al, I need to borrow…”  
  
James stops suddenly as he sees me peeking over the pillow at the end of his brothers bed – his eyes narrow viciously and he mumbles, “ _Nevermind_ ,” before stalking from the room and slamming the door behind him.  
  
Albus raises his eyebrows at me.  
  
“There is _definitely_ something you’re not telling us, Ly,”  
  
“Definitely,” Louis adds.  
  
“Sod off,”  
  
I mumble at the pair of them before burying my face into the pillow and wallowing in my misery.  
  
   
**  
  
**A/N:**   _Sooo things have taken a bit of a dark turn... I feel so bad that there's not so much humour in this Chapter! But I have the majority of this story planned out and there's lots of ups and downs so I really hope you guys still like it!_  
  
_I'll be working on the next chapter really soon. Please review and let me know what you think :)_


	5. Maybe's and I-Don't-Know's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit to myself that maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.

I feel like a dung beetle.

No, I feel lower than that. Like the actual _dung_ itself.

Not even Louis and Albus wildly chasing their runaway Clabbert in Professor Furrs class could make me crack a smile. And they looked pretty ridiculous, might I add. By the end of the class Albus was smeared in tree sap and Louis was skulking to the Hospital Wing sporting a nasty bite on his right arm.

It was a proper fiasco. But as Pippa and Roxanne were doubled over with laughter and Professor Furr was barely managing to contain a smile herself – her silver curls falling around her flushed face as her shoulders wobbled in amusement – I failed to muster any kind of reaction.

Because all that the situation served to do was make me think of how berserk James was going to go when he found out his best Chaser had injured his throwing arm only days before the game, and _that_ reminded me how much I had been dreading our practice that night.

It made my stomach churn unpleasantly to think of everything I had said to James. It was nothing short of wretched – it was _wrong_. And how he’d reacted, and thrown my necklace in the lake, made it worse still. I know the necklace was just a silly, old thing given to me by my incredibly lovable, if not absolutely mental Grandpa. But still, it was a gift. It meant something to me.

The twisted confliction of emotions continued to rage through me until my head hurt with trying to make sense of it all. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. He shouldn’t have said those things to me either. I wish I had never suggested going to the stupid Halloween party in the first bloody place.

And no matter how much I thought about the situation we were in, it all boiled down to one entirely unpleasant conclusion.

I hate my life.

I mean it – I am absolutely _done_ with my life. And if I have to jump in the lake and be gobbled up by the Giant Squid in order to miss our next Quidditch practice, then I might just be okay with that.

I’m sitting in Potions, my first class of the week when I groan pathetically at the thought of the Halloween party, for the millionth time, and sink lower into my seat, grimacing as the wood pokes into my back unpleasantly.

“Enough already – out with it,” Scorpius orders impatiently from where he’s standing next to me, his pale hands balanced expertly over the rim of our cauldron as he measures out a pinch of crushed mandrake.

I raise my eyebrows at him as he finishes with the mandrake and gives me a pointed stare. It’s true that there’s a lot I would trust Scorpius with – the guy is like a living Gringgots vault – but _this_ … what had happened on Halloween night between James and I… and what I had said… I couldn’t bear to tell _anyone_.

“You’ve been huffing and sighing all morning, Scamander. Clearly something’s going on.” Scorpius adds when I make no move to dish the dirt about my current predicament.

Am I really that obvious?

I grit my teeth and under Scorpius’ orders, reach for a jar of Kinwraith dust, measuring half a teaspoon into our cauldron which bubbles a rich shade of crimson.                                

“I’d rather not talk about it.” I answer sharply, and Scorpius raises his fair eyebrows at me.

Something whizzes through the air above me and hits Louis, who’s sitting at the table in front of me with Spencer Graves, in the back of the head.

Louis turns and I shrug innocently, pointing to the table behind me where Ed Higgs is grinning broadly.

“So Weasley – are you and Finnegan an item yet?” Ed enquires, and Louis flips him an obscene hand gesture before turning back to his potion. I glance at Kit and Rosie over the other side of the class, who have clearly not overheard the exchange.

Scorpius clears his throat beside me softly. “So… do you know if Weasley snogged anyone on Halloween?”

“Be more specific.”

“Rose.”

I look at him and shrug. “I don’t think so – she’s not really like that, you know?”

He nods in agreement and my forehead creases into a frown.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” He says as he motions for me to add the Skillypine spines. I struggle with the lid of the jar for a moment before handing it to him, and he twists the lid with a loud _‘pop’_. “But in any case, it seems to me that we might have a certain idiotic Captain to blame for all the tears on Saturday night.”

“No need to talk about yourself that way, Scorp.” I tease, though rather half-heartedly, and Scorpius brandishes a spine in my direction as a threat. I sigh and then add. “How did you guess?”

He lets out a small sound of confirmation.

“Because I’ve never seen anyone get to you like he does,” He says as his attention goes to grating the spines over our cauldron, and then he stops – his hands still poised over the brew – and his eyes widen.

“Hang on-“

“No!” I cry out, launching my hands towards his mouth before he can say another word. It had suddenly occurred to me that my actions had been misconstrued as very, _very_ questionable.

“He’s the lad who… _mmph!_ ” He starts as he pries my hands away from his mouth, and I settle instead for waving them in front of me innocently.

“It’s _not_ what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

“I… I…” I bite my lip in an attempt to keep the secret in. I mean, this is Scorpius Malfoy we’re talking about. Yes, he may be my friend – but he’s also the Captain of the SLYTHERIN FREAKING QUIDDITCH TEAM.

Scorpius narrows his eyes at me, and my stomach drops

“Well, I had this plan…”

I officially _suck_ at keeping secrets.

Scorpius prods at me with the potion-covered ladle until finally I blurt the whole ridiculous plan out to him, and then he just laughs at me.

Like, a lot.

I pout, and he ruffles my hair.

“You’re mad. That’s never going to work.”

I throw my arms up in the air in clear exasperation.

“Why does everyone keep saying that!”

“C’mon, Ly – you’re not really his type.”

“And what _type_ would that be?”

Scorpius lets out a huff of air and returns to stirring our potion.

“All I mean is that he doesn’t care one bit about the girls he snogs. And the two of you are practically family, although I’m sure that doesn’t mean all that much to him, I don’t know if he’d actually cross that line.”

I cross my arms over my chest and pout unhappily, contemplating all kinds of horrible ways to have James kicked off the team so I can take the Captains badge for myself.

But the truth is, I’m not sure how much I still want it.

Scorpius falls quiet, and I stop for a moment and study him as he pours his focus into our work – the lines on his forehead, the curve of his downturned mouth. My voice is soft when I speak next.

“Scorp, why do you hate him so much?”

“You know why,” He answers solemnly, without so much as a glance in my direction, “Because he’s an arrogant, big-headed toe-rag.”

I keep my eyes on him, analysing, and after a few moments he snaps at me.

“What?”

“There’s something else,” I state, and Scorpius turns to me, his patience wearing thin.

“There’s nothing. Drop it.”

My lips form a tight line. _Oh, there’s something alright._

“So where does Knox fit into this grand plan of yours?” Scorpius asks knowingly before I can pry any further.

I roll my eyes and push his shoulder in answer, and a dark grin slides onto his face.

“Come on, Ly, I saw the two of you getting close at the Halloween party. You might not have noticed, due to being completely off your face and everything, but you weren’t being very inconspicuous.”

I glower at Scorpius and uncork a vial of Finkfox saliva. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.”

His voice softens. “You still like him, don’t you?”

“No! And stop talking so loud, for Merlin’s sake, I don’t need the whole bloody school finding out about that.”

“Admit it, Ly, you… Woah! Not the Finkfox, bloody hell Scamander,” Scorpius exclaims, yanking the vial from my hands just before I was about to pour and replacing it instead with a tub of Finklewood sap. I squint at the ingredients list again, only to find that I’ve almost made a terrible mistake.

“Are you trying to blow us all up?”

“If you keep asking questions about my love life, then yes.”

“I’d hardly call rejecting your old snogging partner and bickering with the victim of your latest mad scheme a ‘love life’”

I glare at him and throw the entire vial of Finkfox saliva into our cauldron.

As the scarlet contents explode in the air and cover every available surface in the classroom, I have to admit to myself that maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.

_Shit._

***

I was still thinking about the incident in Potions when I trailed out of the locker room hours later with Pippa and Roxanne, shoulders slumped.

_Miserable._

It had taken a good half hour to scrub the contents of our exploded potion off of my skin and out of my hair, by which time Scorpius was so livid with me for sabotaging our work and failing the project that he couldn’t even look me in the eye – and on top of that the smell of wet dog and liquorice still lingered, hours later.

So _maybe_ I had taken his accusation a little too personally.

A light rain falls from the quickly darkening skies, mimicking my mood, threatening to drench us all. This would be my first time interacting with James since our argument, and to tell the truth, I’m completely and utterly terrified.

Pippa shoots me an encouraging smile as we take our brooms from the rack, and as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t reciprocate it. My two best friends had given up hours ago on trying to ask me what was wrong – the pair of them growing tired by being met by only blank stares and sealed lips.

I refuse to tell them what had happened between James and I to make me so god damned miserable. I couldn’t, knowing how disappointed they would be with me. Roxy especially, given that James is her own family even. Not that she particularly likes to own up to that fact.

The only feeling that is stronger than my guilt at the things I had said to James is my own anger at him. So much so that whenever the thought of apologising springs through my mind, somewhere deeper a sliver of bitterness keeps my lips sealed tight.

My heart thumps furiously in my chest as we meet with the rest of the team on the Pitch, my eyes trailing on the ground the entire time. I hold my broom in front of me protectively, trying desperately to ignore the nervousness that’s slithering through my stomach as I drag my eyes up to meet the withering glare of our Captain, who’s waiting for the three of us impatiently.

The rain has made his dark hair stick to his skin, and a lump forms in my throat as he looks me over, and I summon every shred of pathetic courage that I have left to not run as fast and far away as I can.

I can only watch, helplessly, as droplets of water run over his sweatshirt, outlining the muscles underneath, and his lips curl into a snarl as he barks at us.

“Now that you’ve _finally_ graced us with your presence, we’ll start with five laps of the Pitch.”

I catch Lysander shooting me a dark glare, as if he knows James’ bitter mood is entirely my fault, and I fall into line – a little behind everyone else while James takes his place at the front – and start a brisk jog. Louis runs beside me for a bit, and I notice the white bandage wrapped tightly around his arm and know that it wouldn’t have done anything to improve our Captains mood.

“Hurry it up!” James calls over his shoulder, and I swear under my breath.

My muscles groan and complain with the movement and I wonder how they would feel after months and months of no training, and not just a mere weekend. Because I have the increasingly nervous feeling that if I did anything to push James any further – to push him over the edge completely – then that was exactly where I was heading.

I try to focus on the task and grit my teeth as I splash through the puddles pooling in the grass, my sneakers becoming soaked and heavy until they pull down on my feet and I find myself slowing even further, losing sight of the others through the sheets of rain pouring down in front of me.

By the time I’m on my fourth lap the rain is falling so heavily that my clothes are soaking wet and plastered to my skin and I expect that I’m either going to drown or die of over exhaustion before finishing the remaining, sodding lap.

I manage to pull myself the last few metres and meet up with the rest of the Team just outside the locker rooms under the only bit of available shelter. The sky is completely dark by now and the rain skitters loudly over the tin roof above us, making it almost impossible to hear – though the absolute venom dripping from James’ dark glare says more than his words ever could.

“Scamander!” He barks as I join them, sucking in lungfuls of ice-cold air to steady myself and regain some sort of composure.

“What?” Lysander asks brashly – offended by the harshness of his Captains tone.

James grits his teeth, still piercing me with his relentless glare. “Not you. The other one,”

Suddenly all six pairs of eyes are on me, and I glower at James – breathing heavily but refusing to shrink away as he crosses his arms over his chest and puffs himself up.

“I won’t tolerate slacking off, Scamander. Give me a hundred suicides to make up for those piss-poor laps.”

I scoff loudly and my head almost explodes from the sudden burst of rage and disbelief. His stare is menacing, and I force myself to stand up against him.

“ _Excuse_ me?” I all but shriek, hands on my hips stubbornly as my sapphire eyes burn into his hazel ones. How dare he treat me like common trash, no matter how much he might hate me. I won’t stand for it.

James strides towards me, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he stands so close that I doubt the rest of the team can hear him over the rain and he hisses through gritted teeth.

“You bloody well heard me, Scamander. I highly suggest you get your arse moving. _Now._ ”

“Or what?” I challenge, and his eyes narrow further.

“Or I’ll have you suspended for disobeying instruction and jeopardising the Team.”

He spits the words acidly, and I’m too dumbfounded to say another word as he turns and mounts his broom, indicating for the other players, who mostly send me pitying and questioning glances, to follow after him while I stay behind on the ground. Once they’ve flown far enough into the rain I let out a strangled scream, kicking at a tuft of grass in frustration before starting up again.

Suspend me from Quidditch? For _jeopardising_ the Team? How dare he… how _dare_ he accuse me of that when he’s the one stomping around like he’s Genghis bloody Khan shouting orders and threats at every single member of this so-called _team._

My blood boils and the sound of it rushes in my ears as I race back and forth across the Pitch, under the rest of the Team who are circling in the air above me, only catching slivers of their shouted conversations every now and then.

The remainder of the night follows on the same way, with James creating more and more torturous exercises for me to complete to compensate for my _‘slacking off’_ while the rest of them carry out drills on their brooms – mine laying untouched and useless against the office door.

By the end of practice I’m utterly exhausted, soaked to the bone and ready to murder James Potter by any means necessary. He instructs us all to be at practice tomorrow at dawn, and then storms off without another word.

Not one of the team complains at this as we head back to the locker rooms, and I linger in the shower for ages, letting the scalding hot water stream over my skin until its red and raw and the voices of my teammates have long disappeared. The hot water is a welcome change after the relentless rain, but as I step out to change into a pair of thick, black tights and oversized sweater I’m back to shivering through the cold – my bones aching with exhaustion and my head craving the softness of my pillow.

I tramp up to Gryffindor Tower in a stony silence – alone and wallowing in misery.

When at last I push through the portrait hole to the common room I’m met with familiar warmth, and the chattering of my teeth finally begins to subside. I’ve barely had two seconds of blissful peace, however, before a shrill voice cuts through the air, silencing the hum of the chattering students surrounding me.

_“You!”_

I’m stopped in my tracks as a furious girl with caramel skin and narrowed, emerald eyes stalks my way, and my blood starts to course wildly in my veins, waking me from my former misery. I had avoided the insufferable wench so far, not trusting myself to remain civil in her presence, though it seemed there was little I could do about it now.

Saffi Kapur advances on me – dressed in the tightest pair of denim jeans that I have ever seen, and a cream sweater that makes her tanned skin look even more obnoxiously perfect. I’m hit with the savage urge to send a Jelly-Legs jinx her way, but remembering that my wand is lost somewhere amongst the other items in my sports bag, I settle instead for glowering at her darkly.

She stops a mere pace away from me and says, sneering as she points a manicured finger in my face.

“You stupid, little cow – you completely _ruined_ my Louboutin’s the other night! What is _wrong_ with you?”

I blink dumbly at her – my exhaustion making it almost impossible to decipher exactly what she’s accusing me of. It must show on my face because she scoffs impatiently and says.

“My heels, you idiot! I’ve been _waiting_ for you to show your face. Do you even know how much they cost me?”

I’m saved from hazarding a guess by a silky voice cutting through the silence of the room.

“Saff, you know it’s not worth it – those Lou’s were _so_ last season,”

Lydia Harlow purrs from where she’s seated on a nearby, crimson couch, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in flawless curls. My head whips in her direction and for the first time I notice Bash seated beside her – a book open in his lap and her legs pressed unnecessarily close against him. Lydia follows the flicker of my eyes and sends me a smug grin and something in my throat tightens.

In an instant, Bash snaps the book closed loudly and he’s on his feet, circling around the couch towards Saffi and I.

“I don’t care!” Saffi snarls, before pushing me by the shoulder so I stumble back a pace, and I wonder how this girl who’s so thin has enough strength to do so. Though, as willowy as she is she’s tall enough to tower over me.

All legs and no brain, I swear.

“She should learn who she’s dealing with,” Saffi hisses and pushes me again, and this time I retaliate, letting my bag drop off my shoulder and to the floor before I push against her so hard that she almost loses balance and I bark.

“Don’t touch me, you slag!”

Saffis’ hand comes down across the side of my face in a slap and immediately my hand goes to my cheek, and I’m blinking through the black spots of pain before I realise that someone is steering me away from the other girl and growling.

“Kapur, if you touch my sister again I’ll throw you off the Tower myself!”

Lysander releases me as my vision returns and in an instant, Bash is at my side, pulling me in with one arm and inspecting the side of my face with his other hand. I brush him away, turning back instead to survey the scene I had left behind me.

Saffi has turned her attention on my brother instead, screaming something at him about having her ruined shoes replaced before James steps in and takes her by the arms, shushing her gently and guiding her towards the fireplace.

The sight of him comforting the psychotic wench sets me on edge and I push my way towards the portrait hole and back out into the cold, stone corridor, very much aware of Bash trailing behind me.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and I flinch, hissing, “Don’t touch me,” as my senses return to me, and I shrug him off mercilessly.

He’s still holding the book that he and Lydia were reading together, and I tear my eyes away from him – leaning against the stone wall and shivering as the cold runs up my spine.

“Woah, Ly – don’t worry about Kapur, everyone knows she’s a first-class bitch.”

I paw at my face tenderly, and Bash takes a step closer and puts a hand on my arm. His skin, I note with a hint of annoyance, is a welcoming warmth. In fact, everything about him is warm – the familiar smell of citrus and musk, the crimson sweater he’s wearing over a white-collared shirt practically inviting me into his arms.

 “And Lydia?” I snap at him, far more harshly then I had intended to.

He takes a step back – his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion before a sudden realisation dawns upon him and he holds a hand up in innocence.

“She’s my Potions partner – we were working on our project together. That’s all.”

I let out a huff of air, rolling my eyes in disbelief and turning away from him.

What was it to me if Bash was spending time with Lydia? I didn’t care… I _shouldn’t_ care. Next to Saffi, Lydia is the most gorgeous Witch at Hogwarts, no matter how horrible and wretched she might be, I couldn’t deny that much. So what if Bash decided to be close with her?

“Ly, what is it?” Bash’s low voice echoes off the walls and I turn back to him, biting my lips and fighting the urge to fall right into those liquid silver eyes.

Oh Merlin, I really _do_ care.

“I don’t like seeing you with her,” My mouth blurts out before I can stop it and suddenly Bash is grinning at me – his eyes crinkling adorably and his dark hair falling into his eyes and I’m all but melting into a puddle on the damned floor.

“You don’t have to be jealous of Lydia,” He says smoothly, leaning his book against the wall before he wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me against him, and I let out a low sigh and rest my hands against his arms. “In fact, you don’t have to be jealous of anyone. Not where I’m concerned.”

A low, dull heat spreads its way through my body, and my heart thumps so loud that I wouldn’t be surprised if Bash could hear it. He had never been hesitant with me – never slow or unsure – and some part of me craved that, and I knew how easy it would be to just let him in.

But my head is pounding, and my heart aches and all I really want to do is crawl into bed and hide away from the world for a while.

Or forever.

Not to mention that if anyone decided to stroll out the common room right now we’d be royally screwed.

But Bash simply grins at me crookedly and says. “Hey, are you hungry? I bet there’s an apple pie in the kitchens just waiting for you.”

How does he know I love apple pie? Damn him and his perfect smile and his warm arms to the watery depths of the Black Lake.

My stomach gurgles at the prospect of food and I fail to hide the upwards curve of my lips, letting him swing an arm around my shoulders as we head to the kitchens together. He talks lightly as we walk, and I nod along with him, content to just listen.

It doesn’t take long to reach the kitchens, and once we make it past the fruit bowl portrait and into the cavernous room I’m starting to feel a bit better.

The room is mostly empty – most of the House Elves having retired for the night – though there are still about half a dozen of them scurrying around the benches, cleaning up the last of the silverware from dinner. I’m no stranger to the kitchens due to my insane Quidditch schedule, and I like most of the House Elves well enough. I even have a couple of favourites.

But there is one – a creature of pure deviousness. Even fouler then Saffir Kapur and Lydia Harlow and even Medusa herself.

_Lemmy._

She’s shuffling towards us now – all bright smile and lemon-yellow eyes, and I brace myself for her wrath. Because the thing with Lemmy is… she hates me.

I don’t know the why or how or where of it, but she _despises_ me. And I’m not too fond of her either.

She scans me briefly through large eyes before turning a sweet smile on Bash and singing.

“Mr Bastian! Lemmy is so happy you visited tonight! Mr Bastian hasn’t been here in a long, long time.”

I raise my eyebrows at Bash as he smiles down at the House Elf and I wonder what on earth he had to do to get her to be _nice_ to him.

“It’s good to see you, Lemmy,” He says affectionately before adding. “We need some ice. And a towel, please.”

Lemmy’s eyes keep flickering towards me and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the little devil.

“Anything else?” She squeaks, and Bash nods.

“Yes. Pie.”

“Apple?”

“You know me so well.”

Lemmy smiles at Bash demurely and then turns to me and bares her teeth in a growl before hobbling off to fetch the requested items.

Bash laughs as he guides me towards one of the long, wooden tables and says. “Wow, I’ve never seen her act like that with anyone before.”

I sit on the bench next to him and my eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen her be _nice_ to anyone before!”

“Maybe it’s just me then,” Bash flashes a grin and I feel my face flush with colour.

A smaller House Elf with large, green eyes hurries over and places a bowl of ice cubes and a folded kitchen towel on the table before disappearing without a word. Bash busies himself with wrapping the ice cubes in the towel, and then leans in closer to me and places it against my cheek, and the large red mark that I guess has been left there by Kapurs perfectly, manicured hand.

I flinch a little at the coldness, but soon relax into it. My eyes meet Bash’s, and he’s smiling at me, and something inside my stomach flutters nervously. He studies my face for a few moments before speaking, his voice laced with amusement.

“You know, I’ve never seen anyone talk to Kapur like that. It was pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, well we aren’t exactly friends.”

“Thank Merlin. Can you imagine ending up like one of _them_?”

My eyes lower, and when I speak next, my voice is quiet.

“James seems to like them.”

Bash scoffs softly.

“He may be my mate, but James is an idiot. He only likes what he can get from them.”

I bite on my lip lightly and grimace. I understood what he meant, and I knew then why my plan would never have worked, and why everyone thought that I really was mental for even thinking of it. Because I’m not tall and beautiful. I don’t look like a bloody billboard model. Because I don’t sleep around, or obsess over how I look, or possess any measure of flirting skills whatsoever.

That’s why James Potter would have never fallen in love with me.

Because I’m just… _me_.

Something inside of me crumbles, slowly, though I’m distracted only seconds later by the clang of silver dishware on wood. Lemmy had returned, propping down two plates of apple pie in front of us and narrows her large eyes at me before smiling giddily at Bash.

I stare down at disbelief at the plate in front of me which contains a measly sliver of pie and a teaspoon of cream. I steal a glance at Bash’s plate which has been much more generously served, and my face falls.

Lemmy gives me a smile positively dripping with venom, though Bash merely laughs and switches our plates, earning a grateful smile from me. I hear Lemmy huff loudly before disappearing to the corner of the room once more, though I’m much too preoccupied by getting stuck into the heaping plate of deliciousness in front of me.

“James would kill me if he knew I was filling you up on sugar,” Bash says, amused, as I dig into my food, and I answer through a mouthful of pie.

“I think he’d kill you for even talking to me, to be honest.”

Bash stops for a moment – twirling his fork between his fingers.

“Something happen between you and him?”

I shrug, as if the very thought of it isn’t eating me up inside.

“We had an argument – nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose.”

“I suppose not.” Bash agrees, his voice quiet.

I try not to notice his tone. I’m too tired to be miserable any longer tonight, and on top of that I’m absolutely starving after the practice I’ve just endured and nothing – _nothing_ – is going to take me away from this pie.

When Lemmy returns next she props two goblets of water down in front of us. I take a tentative sniff of mine, wondering if she’d go so far as to poison it. Bash gives me a lopsided grin and switches the goblets too – taking a long sip from his to make sure it’s okay. Once I’m convinced he isn’t going to start convulsing or breaking out in horrible pus-filled boils, I deem it safe to drink.

When I’m finished with my food, I stretch my arms above my head luxuriously and sigh in satisfaction. Having a full belly has definitely worked wonders on my mood. It’s only when I notice Bash watching me that I stop. I wipe at my mouth uncertainly and wonder if I have food all over my face.

“What is it?”

Bash supresses a grin and shrugs lightly.

“Look, I’m just going to come out and say it. I like you Ly. I _really_ like you, and I don’t give a shit what _anyone_ thinks about that,”

My mouth drops and I feel something in my chest tighten. I take a gulp from my goblet to avoid answering him. Because in all honestly I have no freaking idea how to reply to that.

It’s not that I don’t like him – because really I like him so much that I can’t stand it.

Maybe it’s because I know how many girls he’s been with before, and how many are constantly chasing him – smiling, laughing, anything to get his attention. And I couldn’t blame them for that, because the truth of it is that he’s gorgeous, smart _and_ funny.

Or maybe it’s the thought of Lysander smothering me in my sleep at the very prospect of me dating one of his best friends – although I find myself caring less and less about what my idiotic brother thinks as time goes by.

But really, it’s something that I can’t place my finger on. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

“Say something,” Bash pleads gently, running a hand through his dark hair nervously so that it falls to one side in a tuft of jet-black.

“It’s just… I can’t, Bash.” I say lamely, and he studies me through stormy eyes – his face falling.

“Why? Because of Lysander? Or James?”

“No, I’m just... I’m exhausted. I can’t think right now.”

And it’s the truth. Although the fact that I’ve been struggling with my feelings for Bash for a while now doesn’t help one bit. I let my head rest on my hands and exhale sharply.

Bash rubs my back softly and says. “Okay, let’s head back.”

He puts an arm around me to keep me warm and together we walk back to the Common room. We don’t say much, but the silence is comfortable, though whenever I sneak a glance at him his face is unreadable and I feel my stomach sink in sadness. We push through the portrait hole, and I notice only a small scattering of people remaining around the fire. As we walk through I don’t dare look around me – at the angry eyes, judging, frustrated.

I kiss Bash on the cheek gently, thanking him for looking after me, not caring who’s watching, before I run up the stairs to my dormitory and slam the door behind me and letting out a heavy sigh.

“Where were you?” Roxy’s voice cuts through the air and she clicks her tongue at me before I’ve had a chance to breathe properly.

She’s standing by the end of her bed – her long hair braided in two plaits that fall over her shoulders and her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Pippa hops up from her bed, already clad in a pair of pale-pink, silk pyjamas and says. “We were worried.” And she nudges Roxy in the arm as a warning while she interjects.

“Oh, I was just in the kitchens.” I say softly, hurrying over to my bed, and the two of them exchange a look.

“By yourself?”

“Yes,” I answer quickly, rather than having to make up some sort of excuse for why I was actually there with Bash.

Pippa tip-toes over to the bed beside me.

“Talk to us, Ly.” She pleads – her doe-eyes wide.

But I can’t talk to them. I can’t tell them.

So I do the one thing that I can do. I climb into my bed without even bothering to change my clothes and pull the covers up over my head, biting on my quivering lip to stop the tears from falling.

Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.

Maybe.

 

 ***

 **A/N:** _The angst won't last forever! I promise!_

 

                                                                                                                 


	6. Secret's and Sorry's

I’m currently on my forty-seventh bleacher sprint.  
  
And I know that James is mad because I said I hated him, among some other horrible things that I don’t wish to repeat. And I understand that I shouldn’t have slapped him for sticking up for me, or thrown his family’s name in his face, or even accuse him of snogging a piece of trash (to be far though, he totally was.)  
  
But this… this is pure _evil_.  
  
I finish off the sprints he’d dished out to me– bending with my hands on my knees to catch my breath for a few moments. Beads of sweat trickle down my forehead, turning ice cold once the night air hits them, and I wipe at my face with the sleeve of my jacket before grabbing my broom and mounting it.  
  
I’ve barely gotten ten feet off the ground, however, before James is on me again.  
  
“Scamander! I said fifty _bleacher sprints_ and I don’t know what that half-arsed hobbling was so I want one hundred and fifty push-ups to make up for it!”  
  
It’s Friday night, and I had gritted my teeth against his temper all week – because the only time he would even look me in the eye was when he was dishing out some horrible punishment or other on the Pitch, and so far I had taken it with minimal protest.  
  
But this has gone too far.  
  
I ignore his command, flying instead to where the team is gathered around, waiting for the next drill, and glower at him darkly.  
  
The team glance between the Captain and I apprehensively. They know that _something_ is going – they’d had to deal with the constant arguing, coldness and rage since we started up training again on Monday evening – but _what_ exactly, they have no idea.  
  
I certainly hadn’t been the one to tell them, and guessing by their continued confusion, neither had James. His dark eyebrows narrow together at my defiance, but I don’t back down. When he speaks next, his voice is rough.  
  
“Don’t make the mistake of forgetting that I can have you off this Team with the snap of my fingers, Lyra.”  
  
“Go on then – _kick me off the Team_ ,” I challenge with a hiss, utterly fed up with his aggression, and James’ jaw clenches as tight as the fists at his side.  
  
In an instant Roxanne is at his side – her eyes narrowed in fury and her voice like ice. “Stop this _now_. I don’t know what the hell is going on with the two of you but you’re destroying the Team.”  
  
She waves her bat between the two of us – an action I’ve seen all too often – and although James doesn’t indicate that he’s even listening to a word his cousin says, the twitch of his jaw tells me otherwise.  
  
“She’s right,” Lysander interjects gruffly, settling before me on his broom. “Our first match of the season is tomorrow and we don’t stand a chance of winning with the two of you at each other’s throats.”  
  
The rest of the team adds their agreement and I can visibly see James’ breathing getting heavier as his rage increases – his eyes like chips of stone-cold flint. A sense of guilt creeps over me as I realise just how much this tension affects not only us, but the entire team.  
  
But before I can say a word, James takes off – landing on the ground with an expert step and dragging his broom behind him all the way towards the Quidditch office, which he disappears into and slams the door behind him with a loud _bang_.  
  
I flinch at the sound and ignore the dark stares of the others, instead steering my broom towards the ground and jumping off with a light step, intending to shower then head to a much desired dinner.   
  
That is until my moronic brother slams down behind me and grabs me by the arm. I protest loudly as he spins me around to face him. His highlighted hair has grown so long that it falls into his eyes as he stoops over me and growls.  
  
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. _Now_ , Lyra.”  
  
For a moment he reminds me of our Dad – of how he used to tell me off when I was younger for curiously opening crates containing their exotic discoveries and letting them loose on the house. My favourite time was when a Three-Legged Yurdle bit Lysander on the ankle.  
  
“Oh, sod off, will you? It has _nothing_ to do with you,” I snap at Lysander, tearing my arm from his grip and throwing him a disgusted glare. His sapphire eyes lock onto me heatedly and he points in the direction of the Quidditch office, his hand trembling in silent rage.  
  
“That’s my best friend in there and you’re my sister and you’re _both_ jeopardising this team.”  
  
I snort. “Look at you – using a word longer than two syllables.”  
  
“This is _not_ funny,” He barks, his usual bright eyes narrowed. He makes a brief hand gesture and says. “Al, Lou – grab her legs,”  
  
“Hey, wha–!” I scream as I’m hoisted off the ground by the three of them – Albus shooting me an apologetic look, which doesn’t nearly make up for his traitorous nature – and dragged in the direction of the Quidditch office.  
  
I struggle, hard, and curse and scream and even attempt to bite but it’s completely useless against the strength of three Quidditch-hyped males and I’m helpless as they shove me through the door into the office and lock it behind me.  
  
I thump at the back of the door with a glove-cladded fist and let out a frustrated scream but the only answer I get is the sound of Lysanders muffled voice saying, “ _We’ll be back once you two sort your shit out_.”  
  
I try rattling the doorknob but it doesn’t budge so I turn, defeated, leaning against the door as I survey the small office I’d been unceremoniously tossed into. The walls of the room are painted a faded blue, and are littered with wooden shelves containing various Quidditch books and manuals and a handful of small trophies. A large wooden crate sits on the floor nearby, containing the balls and equipment used for Quidditch games.  
  
James is seated behind the large desk which sits in the centre of the room and takes up the majority of the space, his head bowed and his dark hair running over his fingers.  
  
I feel a surge of pity rush through me at the sight. That is until he raises his head – his hazel eyes burning – and snarls at me, “Get out!”  
  
He splays his hands wide on the wooden desk in front of him and a lump rises in my throat as I swallow thickly.  
  
“It’s _locked_ ,” I snap back at him, trying to keep my voice steady and indicating towards the door with a wave. A growl tears from James’ throat as he circles the desk and strides to the door, his wand drawn.  
  
“ _Alohamora_ ,” He points his wand at the lock which opens with a _click_ , before he swings the door wide open and hisses down at me once more, “ _Get out._ ”  
  
His voice chills me to my core and I stop, frozen to the spot and stare at him for a moment – at his eyes clouded with so much anger and his mouth set into a tight line. I want to say something to him – to apologise, maybe – but my tongue won’t let me, and the confliction is tearing and clawing at my insides so relentlessly that I feel I’m going to be sick.  
  
And then I think of the things he said to me, and the image of him and Saffi together at the party and the necklace that he threw away and my lips lock even tighter.  
  
So I do the only thing I can. I grit my teeth and walk away, heading back onto the Pitch alone and ignoring the feverish whispers of my team mates and the feeling of absolute misery washing over me.  
  
 _“Shit, how’d she get out?”_  
  
 _“We’re at a school for magic, you morons.”_  
  
I scoop my broom up from where I’ve dropped it on the damp grass and throw a leg over the wood and shoot into the sky. I need to feel the wind against my skin, and the sharp bite of the cold night air in my face and anything, _anything_ else that will take my mind off of the insufferable prat that I’ve left behind me.  
  
My throat tightens and I can feel the frustrated tears beginning to build and I want to scream at the absurdity of it all. At the fact that Quidditch, the one thing in the world that I had so much love for is being slowly ruined, day by day, all because of a stupid fight that James and I had when we were drunk and angry.  
  
I have to make it right somehow.  
  
It’s only when I’m halfway across the Pitch that I realise I’m not alone, and when I turn into a stop in mid-air, Roxanne and Pippa fall in beside me.  
  
“What… the hell… was that?” Pippa asks, her breath short as she struggles to slow herself. Before I can say a word, however, Roxanne growls at me in frustration.  
  
“Alright, I’ve had enough. You’re going to tell me what the problem is between you and my cousin _right now_ – and whatever all this madness is!”  
  
I almost recoil in fear as she glares at me and as I drop down below the hoops a little and out of the wind, Roxanne follows suit – her dark braided hair swinging over her shoulder and her hazel eyes unforgiving.  
  
 _Godric save me._  
  
I run a hand through my unbound hair and sigh – I knew I’d have to tell them eventually, but I’d been avoiding this conversation for days. Because the truth is that I’m terrified. I’m so scared that my best friends will hate me for what I said to James, and for never telling them about Bash and I… I can’t run away from it anymore.  
  
“Okay,” I start shakily, twisting my hands around the end of my broom nervously and gripping it for strength, “Before I tell you anything you have to _promise_ not to murder me.”  
  
“Just get on with it,” Roxy says and I gulp.  
  
 _Shit, shit, shit._  
  
I glance between Roxy’s narrowed eyes and Pippa’s piercing stare and I know that there’s no way I’m getting out of this.  
  
“So, I kind of did something last year… something I didn’t tell you about, and I’m _really_ sorry that I didn’t, but–“  
  
“Just say it, Ly,” Pippa interrupts, and I brace myself for their onslaught before squeaking.  
  
“I made out with Bash.”  
  
Both pairs of feminine eyes widen, and when neither of them says anything, I add sheepishly.  
  
“A couple of times, actually.”  
  
“You _what!_ ” Roxy’s shriek is loud enough to carry across the Pitch and I close my eyes against the sound.  
  
When I open them next it’s to wide-eyed horror and Pippa asking softly.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us?”  
  
I stumble on my words stupidly. “I just, _I don’t know_ , I didn’t want Lysander to find out and I thought you’d think I was an idiot – given that Bash has probably snogged half the school by now, and–“  
  
 _“You are an idiot!”_ Roxy exclaims, though Pippa hushes her.  
  
“I, for one, quite like Bash, but… you could have told us. You know you can tell us anything.” She says, and I thank Godric that at least one of my friends is a total sweetheart – unlike the raging banshee next to me who it currently taking in a series of deep breaths to calm herself.  
  
The fact that she’s still holding her bat in one hand doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable.  
  
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Roxanne says breathlessly, holding a hand up in front of her to steady herself. “That was just… a bit of a shock. But I don’t see how it relates to you and James?”  
  
“Well,” I begin, glad that that part is out of the way and I still seem to have all limbs intact – though dreading what would come next. “Bash kind of tried to snog me again on Halloween… twice… and James saw and I didn’t know that he knew about what had happened with me and Bash last year,” I start prattling on at an incredibly fast pace as my nerves start rising.   
  
“And James and I kind of, argued about it, and then later on I saw him snogging Kapur and I just… _lost it_ , and then we argued more and I – I said…”  
  
Pippa gives me an encouraging nod and my shoulders sink.  
  
I repeat exactly what I said to James and Roxy lets out a hiss of breath between her teeth. I hold a hand over my face in defence and mumble through it.  
  
“And then he threw my necklace in the lake and told me there was no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack… and then… I told him I hated him.”  
  
It isn’t until Pippa hovers towards me and removes my hand from in front of my face that I realise that my face is wet with tears, and she rubs my back soothingly.  
  
“Did you mean it?” Roxy asks, her face unreadable, “Do you really hate him?”  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
The word slips through my lips in a whisper before I can think and the next thing I know I’m sobbing, and Pippa is guiding me back towards to ground. Once our feet are back on the grass she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tight. Though she stands a head shorter than me, the gesture is still a comfort, and my sobbing subsides a little.  
  
Roxy holds her broom in front of her and eventually says quietly. “What you said, Ly, it was horrible. You _know_ how much that kind of stuff gets to him.”  
  
“But James was no saint either,” Pippa reasons, and Roxy nods softly in agreement.  
  
I rub at my eyes pathetically, wiping away the tears and Roxy steps forward and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.  
  
“What are you going to do now?”  
  
I think for a moment. I want to say I don’t know. I want to never have to look James Potter in the face again, but at the same time I want to run to him and beg his forgiveness.  
  
“I need to sleep on it. In the morning, I’ll apologise – before the match,” I say eventually, and they both give me encouraging smiles.   
  
And for once, finally, I find myself smiling back.  
  
“Until then, we’re going to have a girl’s night in,” Pippa declares, and then adds with a half-smirk, “But not before we sneak into the kitchens and round up every last tub of peanut butter ice cream.”  
  
Ugh, _gross._  
  
“And no more secrets?” Roxy adds, and a smile slides onto my lips.  
  
I nod my head in a silent promise.  
  
“No more secrets.”  
  
***  
  
The morning of the match against Slytherin dawns quicker than I had wished, and where the usual excitement of a game usually exists, I feel instead only anxiety. The skies outside mimic my mood, hanging thick with grey cloud and the threat of rain. I had woken up with the ultimate sugar hangover thanks to last night’s kitchen raid, and a sickening sensation of dread in my stomach.  
  
Because to get through this game with my sanity intact I knew there was one thing I had to absolutely, unquestionably put myself through.  
  
Apologising to James Potter.  
  
I take in a deep breath as I walk through the doors of the Great Hall, wringing my leather gloves between my hands nervously, and Roxanne pats me on the back in encouragement before she and Pippa scurry off to hide somewhere far, far away.  
  
I take that as a sign that this might not end well.  
  
I spot James easily – his dark hair sticking out amongst the throng of students eating breakfast who are laughing and chattering and generally just jumping up in down in anticipation of the first game of the season. I, however, ignore the thick wash of excitement that hangs in the air and instead inch tentatively closer to where the messy haired prat is sitting at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by the majority of our team.  
  
Bash grins at me as I approach and James, following his line of sight, turns towards me and looks me over. And that’s when I see it. The dark circles under his eyes. The pale, drawn skin of his face.  
  
He looks terrible.  
  
Something inside my stomach lurches, and for a moment I struggle to find any words. I’m spared from having to, however, as James pushes himself up from the bench and paces towards me.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” He says, his voice strained as he puts a hand on my elbow and guides me down the table, a little further away from the rest of the team.  
  
James swings a leg over the bench, sitting sideways, and I hesitate as he motions for me to sit next to him, not knowing exactly what’s going on. I’m supposed to be apologising to him, but now… now… what’s happening?  
  
He studies me for a moment through those amber eyes which are flecked with emerald green and my heart speeds up and my tongue sits uselessly in my mouth.  
  
I’m absolutely terrified.  
  
What if he’s about to kick me off the team?  
  
Please, _please_ don’t let him kick me off the team.  
  
I swallow thickly, and then he speaks.  
  
“This is our first match of the season, and against our biggest rivals, we can’t afford to have any distractions,” He starts and I just stare at him, dumbstruck, my stomach sinking further and further and my heart pounding a petrified rhythm against my ribcage.  
  
It’s happening – it’s really happening. He’s going to kick me off the team, and that will be it for me. No more Quidditch. No Captaincy. No _anything_.  
  
I can feel the threat of tears prickling at my eyes.  
  
I think I’m going to start hyper-ventilating.  
  
I inhale sharply.  
  
James drags a hand through his hair and bites on his bottom lip, struggling to find words. His voice comes out hoarse, and it grates against my nerves even further.  
  
“Ly, I know you’re mad and I know you hate me – we both said horrible, horrible things but, can we just make things work for the sake of the team. _Please_.”  
  
I stop.  
  
I’m still holding my breath.  
  
I let the air out slowly, trying to absorb his words.  
  
He’s… _not_ … kicking me off the team?  
  
When I don’t make a move to speak he adds softly.  
  
“I’m sorry for being so hard on you this week – I’ve been an absolute tosser. What can I do to make it up to you?”  
  
A wave of pure relief washes over me and as he pleads an idea forms in my mind.  
  
 _Sweet, sweet revenge._  
  
So what if I’m taking advantage of the situation? After what this idiot has put me through this week, I’d say he deserves a bit of pain.  
  
James leans forward, his eyes pleading, and his bottom lip still held between his teeth in that way that makes my head cloud over and my breath catch in my throat.  
  
“Retrieve my necklace from the lake,” I say, my voice a mere breath of air, and James raises his eyebrows before a half-smile slides onto his lips and he snorts.  
  
 _“Easy.”_  
  
“Without magic,” I add, and watch with a growing satisfaction as he weighs up the situation in his mind.  
  
I know what he’s thinking – the match is in less than two hours and Godric knows how long it would take to locate that tiny piece of plastic and metal in the depths of the Black Lake. I wonder, vaguely, how far he’s actually willing to go to prove he’s sorry.  
  
Seconds pass, and I’m convinced he’s going to say no – that he’s going to give up – when suddenly he bangs both fists down onto the wooden surface of the table, hard, and the nearby silverware rattles loudly.   
  
He points a finger at me and hisses between gritted teeth. “If I catch my death and miss the match – I’m haunting _you_.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes, barely able to contain my excitement as he swings his legs back over the bench and struts purposefully down the aisle.  
  
The rest of the team eyes the pair of us curiously as we pass by and Albus calls out, “Where’s he going?”  
  
“Jumping in the lake,” I try to say quietly, but my excitement catches on and soon the entire Gryffindor team, plus a handful more, are trailing out the door behind James.  
  
We trudge in a group across the grounds which are still thick with morning mist. The damp grass covers my sneakers – the wetness seeping through the material – though I barely notice as I struggle to keep up with James, whose shoulders are squared and mouth set tight, preparing himself for the task ahead.  
  
We reach the lake and I look up at him expectantly, though he merely glowers at me unhappily before stripping off his clothes, one piece at a time, his eyes never leaving mine as he throws the items into a bundle in my arms. My eyes roam over his body as he stands before the lake in only his underwear and I have to bite my lip, hard, to keep from sighing at the sight of him – perfect toned stomach and sculpted muscles and _everything_.  
  
There is something seriously wrong with me.  
  
Roxanne makes a disgusted noise behind me and after a moment, James dives into the water, disappearing under the smooth surface and out of sight and I visibly shiver at even the thought of the freezing lake water.  
  
The spectators mill around in the icy morning air as we wait, and I can hear Albus and Wade making bets behind me on how long it’ll take James to resurface, and I find myself praying that it’s sooner rather than later.  
  
A few minutes pass by, and then a few more and I start to feel incredibly uneasy. I had told James he couldn’t use magic, and so far we hadn’t seen him come up for air – how long can a normal person hold their breath for?  
  
The others begin murmuring around me and I start to shuffle uneasily, moving my weight from one foot to the other and sucking in a lungful of cold air. The lake is full of unknown horrors. Grindylows, Merpeople.THE GIANT FREAKING SQUID. What if something has grabbed him and pulled him down into the depths.  
  
Oh Godric.  
  
This is all my fault.  
  
Now we’re going to lose the game for sure.  
  
Dozens of disastrous images begin to flood my head and I glance at Roxy and Pippa, whose eyes widen uncertainly, and curse under my breath. There is _no_ way I’m taking the fall for James Potter meeting his gloomy end in the bloody lake of all places.  
  
Before I can think too much I let James clothes fall to the ground before I start to strip off my own, much to everyone’s simultaneous horror and amusement, until I’m left in nothing but a tank top and my underwear and I trudge into the lake, clutching my wand in my hand.  
  
A wolf whistle comes from behind me, as well as a few concerned words, though I ignore them all – taking only a second to regret my decision as the cold bites at my toes before I dive into the water, the iciness of it hitting me like a knife, and swim in the direction that James had headed.   
  
The glacial cold almost scorches my skin and when I get far enough out I lift my wand and cast a magnifying spell through chattering teeth, searching the depths below me for any sign of my idiot Captain.  
  
A myriad of aquatic plants swish and sway below me, and as the minutes pass, and still there’s no sign of him, I can feeling the panic start to rise in my chest. My heart pounds as the cold seeps through my bones and I push out further away from shore – my mind becoming so heavy with chill that I begin to wonder if this was indeed the way James had come at all. All at once I feel something slither under my foot and I almost scream as I see a movement through my spell below me, but my lungs are frozen, and the sound refuses to come out.  
  
 _Oh, this is such a bad idea._  
  
I try frantically to push the horrors of what could be lurking below me out of my mind and focus on the task at hand, because Godric knows that if James Potter drowns out here then I will be deader than dead. And that is certainly not where I want to be.  
  
Another swift movement passes by below me, and my courage starts to falter. I should swim back to shore, _fast_ , I think as I will my frozen legs to move. I’m not doing much use out here on my own – I should find Headmaster Finks or Professor Longbottom for help.  
  
That is, if it’s not too late already.  
  
I push the thought from my mind as I start to swim in to shore, faster and faster, and I think I’m not too far away until something grips me around my ankle and my arms flail as I’m pulled down under the water and it fills my mouth as I try to scream and kick and do _anything_ to get away from it.  
  
Whatever it is suddenly let’s go of its hold on me and I resurface, spluttering ungracefully and rubbing the water out of my eyes and I would have started screaming had I not heard the low rumble of a laugh coming from nearby. My eyes tear open to find James, red faced and beside himself with laughter, standing in the lake beside me.   
  
A wave of sudden relief washes over me though is quickly replaced by fierce annoyance and I scream at him for scaring the living daylights out of me in between splashing water all over him. He chuckles, attempting to ward off my constant attacks though he only succeeds when his hands are gripping my waist, and he’s drawn me into him, and I’ve calmed down enough to try to breathe properly.  
  
James looks at me – the infuriating smile still spread across his face – and I try to catch my breath as my body temperature drops further still. My hands are on his shoulders, keeping myself propped above the water as I’m simply not tall enough to have my feet on the ground, and the only thing I can feel is his hands, somehow still warm, clasping my skin.  
  
“You’re shivering,” He says quietly, pressing himself against me so his arms snake around my waist and his warmth runs through me and I manage to stutter through chattering teeth.  
  
“It’s _freezing_ in here.”  
  
“Well, you didn’t have to go getting all undressed for me, little salamander – although I have to admit that it _is_ quite a sight.” He smirks darkly and I smack him on the shoulder for it and then my arms curl around the back of his neck, still clutching my wand in my hand, and his lips quirk upwards.   
  
“We should get back to shore.”  
  
“Yeah, we should…”  
  
Even as I say the words, neither of us moves. Our eyes are locked on each other as dozens of unspoken words hang between us and I have to resist the savage urge to wrap my legs around his waist and let his warmth spread through every inch of my body.  
  
His smile fades, however, as the whisper slips off of my lips.   
  
_“James, I’m so sorry.”_  
  
And I mean it. And my heart aches so badly that I don’t know what else I can possibly say to make things better between us.  
  
He looks away from me and lets out a breath, which escapes in a wisp of clouded air.  
  
“Do you really think of me that way?” He asks, his voice as cold as my skin, and immediately I know what he means – when I had accused him of describing himself as the arrogant son of Harry Potter.  
  
I shake my head, biting on my bottom lip to stop the tears that I can feel forming. But they fall anyway – thick and warm down my skin.  
  
When James looks at me again he adjusts his hands around my waist, pulling me against him with one arm while he raises the other to wipe the tears away from my face, and my breath catches in my throat. And I feel so tired. So tired of arguing, and insulting and fighting with him and I think that after this I never want to see that look of such fury in his eyes ever again.  
  
His eyes lock on mine, scanning, and then he says softly – his low voice vibrating through my chest as he speaks.  
  
“I shouldn’t have said what I did to you, or threw your necklace away – I’m _so_ sorry, Ly. And I’m sure there’s a Crumple-Horned Snorkack out there somewhere. Hell, I’ll even help you look for it, if that’s what it takes.”  
  
“I think that ship has sailed,” I say softly, and James surveys me through sad eyes.  
  
“How can I even ask you to forgive me?”  
  
I don’t say anything – there’s nothing that I can say. So I just smile softly and ruffle my fingers through his dark hair, and watch the corners of his mouth curve upwards. And I swear that I want to stay here forever. And I can’t figure out what that means, but it means something.  
  
“Wait here a minute, I need to show you something,” He says quietly, and I untangle my arms from around him before he dives under the water again, staying under for a few moments before resurfacing again and pulling me towards him with one arm. Then he raises the other to reveal my necklace – slung around the wand he holds in his hand.  
  
I let out a gasp and laugh. “You found it! And… you _cheated_ ,”   
  
“Well, I couldn’t risk missing the most important match of the season, could I?”  
  
James chuckles and I can feel the vibration of it running through me before he loops the necklace over my head.  
  
“Here, I fixed it.”  
  
I look down at the necklace, feeling a mixed feeling of relief and happiness and something that I can’t quite place. And then my eyes are on James again, and he’s biting on his bottom lip, and his arms are around me.  
  
And then I’m distracted as something drops into the water beside me, splashing loudly. I turn back to shore to spot Bash holding another large rock and yelling across the water.  
  
“Come on, sweetheart, we wouldn’t want you catching your death. Then who would win this match for us?”  
  
James’ forehead creases and I give him an apologetic look before we swim back to shore together. I trudge out of the lake, sodding wet and teeth chattering violently.  
  
“You, love, are completely mental. You know that?” Bash gives me a strange look disguised with a grin as he drapes his jacket around my shoulders and throws an arm around me, running his hand up and down my arm to warm me up. A few of the others throw us curious looks, but I ignore them, instead watching as James bundles up his clothes and nudges Wade for the time.  
  
His eyes widen in horror and he yells at us all.  
  
“Alright you lot, let’s get to the Pitch. _Now!_ ”  
  
***  
  
I shower as fast as I can, letting the scorching water burn away at my frozen limbs before drying off and pulling on my Quidditch uniform – thick, cream pants with sturdy brown, leather boots that lace up to my thighs, and a crimson shirt with a gold stripe across the breast. As I pull on my Beaters gloves Pippa braids my damp hair while simultaneously tutting at me for my morning swim.  
  
“I swear, Lyra, if you get sick during the game then we have _no_ chance.”  
  
I brush off her worries and we head to the boys side of the locker room for our usual pre-game talk, and I find that I’m chewing at my fingernails nervously.  
  
James is already in his uniform, and I wonder how he can pull it off a hundred bloody times better than anyone else in the team. The rest of the team huddle around, some sitting and others standing, as the Captain paces back and forth in front of us, dragging a hand through his dark hair anxiously. It occurs to me that this is his first game as acting Captain, and an uneasiness settles over me, until he stops and faces us all, his voice gravelly.  
  
“Alright, this is the first game of the season. This is the game where all those late nights and early mornings we’ve spent training really count. We took the Cup from Slytherin last year after a three year streak from them and you can bet your arses that they’ll be trying to get it back.”  
  
Albus boo’s loudly from beside me and I nudge him. James ignores his brother and continues.  
  
“Lou, I want you to take forward Chaser – remember the plays we’ve gone through. Graves is your biggest rival when it comes to the manoeuvres we’ve learnt; he has the speed and skill to disrupt your movements. Pippa you keep up field, towards the goals – you’re aim is your biggest strength so play to that and use Louis’ evasion to catch Clery off guard before you shoot.”  
  
Pippa nods her confirmation and Louis gives a thumbs up before whispering to Albus, “ _Like this isn’t going to make Potions any more awkward_.”  
  
“I’ll take distraction mid-field and lure the Beaters to me. Roxanne and Lyra, I _need_ you to keep your eyes on Malachy and Pike. They don’t work together well, and their aim is bloody shoddy at best but their strength is lethal. If they hit any of us you can count us out for the rest of the game. Keep together – that’s when you’re at your best. And Lyra – no batting the Quaffle at Higgs’ head this time, right? That shit’ll get you suspended at best.”  
  
I grin sheepishly and Albus claps me on the back with a laugh at the memory.  
  
“Al, don’t forget your bloody goggles this time. The fog is hanging high up today but you can bet the Snitch will be using it for cover. And for the love of Godric pay attention to Malfoys moves, but don’t let him lure you into a false start – you know that’s one of his dirty tricks.”  
  
Albus snaps his goggles on over his eyes to prove he hasn’t forgotten, and James, apparently, satisfied, continues with his rant.  
  
“Lysander… just keep them from scoring any bloody goals, will you? Oh, and watch out for Brucklehurst. He had his eye on Darling before you swooped in there and he’s less than happy about it.”  
  
Lysander mumbles something about Brucklehurst being a Hippogriff dung shoveler before pulling his shoulder pads over his head. He struggles with the straps for a few moments, growing in frustration before glancing at me sheepishly. I let out an impatient sigh before shuffling over to tighten them for him.  
  
He thanked me by swinging my braid around my shoulders so it hit me in the face.  
  
 _Jerk._  
  
James drags me away from Lysander before I throttle him and pushes me behind him as he continues addressing the team. “It’ll be a tough game but I know we have what it takes to win it. And,” He stops, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Look, I know I’ve been hard on you all in training – but I really do think that we have an amazing team. Let’s get out there and kick some Slytherin arse, yeah?”  
  
We all let out a series of whoops and shouts before we get ready to head onto the Pitch. I can already hear the excitement of the crowd buzzing outside and it catches quickly – seeping into my veins like a burst of electricity. The others talk amongst themselves as we wait and I twirl my bat around in my hands, surveying the weight of it.  
  
“Hey,” I grab James’ attention as we wait and smile up at him. “For the record, I never hated you.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured as much.” He smirks back at me before we hear the commentator announcing our team and I have to fight back a grin as we stride onto the Pitch and out into the applause of the crowd.  
  
   
  
***  
  
   
  
 **A/N:** _I had most of this chapter finished before the last one, so that's why the update is so quick! The next one will follow straight into the Quidditch game (It was orginally in this chapter but it makes it much, much too long)._  
  
 _Thanks so much for reading!_


	7. Quaffles and Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wonder why I waited so long for him. Why I was so scared of what someone like my moronic brother might say about it to not go after what I truly wanted.

The crowd is alive with cheers as we enter the Pitch to the sound of the commentators booming voice, announcing us all by name and position, and I soak it up – letting the vibrations of sound run through every inch of my body.

This is undoubtedly one of the best things about Quidditch. The excitement, the competition and the raw feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes watching only us.

It’s too early in the season for scouts – though they would come later in the year, bringing the nerves that sprang forth with them.

With my bat secured in one hand I squint through the weak sunlight at the stands which are a motley assortment of scarlet red and emerald green, and take my broom from the rack.

“AND HERE COMES THE SYLTHERIN TEAM,” The commentator, Paloma Entwhistle – a fifth year Ravenclaw and younger sister of James’ ex-girlfriend Nora – yells , her voice projected across the Pitch by her wand. This would be her first year commentating, and Professor Longbottom sits beside her in the stands, dutifully providing her with any backup she may need.

I survey the other team as they approach, locking eyes with Scorpius who winks at me warmly – having finally forgiven me for the episode in Potions class – and I grin back at him before noticing James watching me, tight lipped, so I settle for a mock scowl instead.

My scowl turns real, however, when I see Alden Pike smirking at me from behind Scorpius. Lanky, with broad shoulders and cropped, brown hair, Pike makes up one half of the Slytherin teams Beaters. Most of the Slytherins’ had thought it was a joke when Roxy and I had become Beaters in our third year, and had absolutely no qualms in making that clear. After winning the Cup last year, they started taking us a bit more seriously.

Pike, however, did not.

Sure, we don’t have the usual strength that a typical Beater would have, even I can admit that. But what we do have is speed, tactics and a generous amount of bad temper. 

And that works for us.

Professor Quinlan stands in the middle of the large field, his fair hair blowing in the rough wind and his broom in hand. “I want a fair game today,” He says as both teams reach him, his voice already sounds tight – as if he knows our two Houses will be at each other’s throats once we’re in the air.

Well, I can’t blame him for the thought really.

“From all of you. You know the rules, and the consequences that come from breaking them.”

He looks at each of us as he speaks – though I swear his narrowed eyes linger on Barnabus Brucklehurst for a little longer than necessary.

James and Scorpius head to the centre of the Pitch and shake hands roughly – each one looking as unhappy as a Demiguise with its toes in a trap, and I can’t help but snigger quietly at the sight.

“GRYFFINDOR CAPTAIN JAMES POTTER,” Paloma coughs and I swear I hear her say ‘tosser’ in between fits. “AND SLYTHERIN CAPTAIN SCORPIUS MALFOY SHAKE HANDS AND PREPARE FOR THE MATCH.”

“Mount your brooms.” Quinlan instructs, and with a loud blast of his whistle we’re all shooting up into the air – the rush of a cool breeze soaring over my skin as I blast upwards, Roxanne at my side, halting only long enough to find the nearest Bludger.

“Hey Scamander!” Pike shouts at me as we hover far enough from Quinlan to hear, and distracts me from my search. “Ten Galleons says we get the first hit.”

I wrinkle my nose at him, taking in the crooked smile and the glint of challenge in his eyes, and I consider the prospect.

“You’re on, Pike.” I agree after a moment – shooting Roxy a knowing look to which she confirms with a nod.

I spot a blur of iron fury, and we take off across the Pitch.

Slytherin have possession of the Quaffle. As we soar overhead, Ed Higgs tosses to Spencer Graves, who dodges Louis with a swift dive and throws to Barney Brucklehurst further up field. Roxy reaches the Bludger first and her bat comes down upon it, hard, sending it soaring towards Brucklehurst. He swerves in time to avoid the hit, but drops the Quaffle.

James glides past and catches the plummeting ball, and Roxy and I whoop loudly and hi-five.

“AND TOSSER – I MEAN POTTER, SORRY PROFESSOR – TAKES POSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE.”

There was no missing it that time. I let out an amused breath at Paloma’s commentary and raise an eyebrow at Roxanne. 

Clearly someone has unresolved issues.

James races across the Pitch, Higgs hot on his trail, and I marvel at his speed. Pike sends a Bludger his way, which misses by a good distance, and I catch his eye – poking my tongue out childishly and making a face.

No way can I let him win that bet.

I’d never hear the end of it.

“AND GRAVES IS BLOCKING POTTERS PATH – THAT’S THE LEAST HE DESERVES REALLY. I WOULD HAVE KNOCKED HIM OFF HIS BROOM IF I WAS – I MEAN, POTTER FEINTS TO THE RIGHT AND DODGES GRAVES, HEADING TOWARDS THE GOAL!”

I snort loudly – searching for a Bludger to keep Graves at bay. Spencer Graves is by far the best Chaser the Slytherins have, though he’s still no match for James.

I mark out Graves location, coming down upon the next Bludger I see – but it’s moving much too fast. I swing, only just nipping the side of it and it hurtles towards Graves, fast enough to slow him but not quite accurate enough to make a hit.

I curse loudly under my breath.

James sweeps effortlessly past Brucklehurst and shoots, though the shot is intercepted by Killian Clery, who tosses the Quaffle over to Higgs. He takes off towards the Slytherin goals and I see Roxanne line up a Bludger, though she quickly realises Higgs is gaining too much distance to hit. Instead, Roxy bats the Bludger towards me and all at once Higgs swoops low, avoiding me. I know I can still get him, but it’s going to have to be a vertical swing – a move that’s tricky for any Beater.

I pull my broom up into a rough backflip and come down upon the Bludger and SMACK – it hurtles downwards, faster and faster until it hits Higgs right between the shoulder blades and he falters, losing hold of the Quaffle.

I raise my bat, victorious, and hear Pike throwing a tantrum somewhere nearby.

Those Galleons belong to me now, buddy.

Oh, and Roxy too, I suppose.

James shoots past and takes the red ball right into his arms – increasing speed towards the end of the Pitch, luring Clery towards the right goal. Clery speeds up too quickly and leaves the other hoops wide open, and James hurls the Quaffle to Pippa who scores in the left hoop with ease.

“AND GRYFFINDOR CHASER, PIPPA BELL, SCORES! SHE MAY LOOK LIKE AS CUTE AS A BUTTON, BUT ON THE PITCH THAT GIRL IS FIERCE. GRYFFINDOR LEAD 10-NIL.”

Gryffindor take possession. I spot Fergus Malachy above me, grinning as he sends a Bludger hurtling towards James, who so far hasn’t noticed. All at once I’m diving, hot on the trail of the both of them. I intercept the Bludger with only seconds to spare, almost barrelling into James myself, and send it straight back at Malachy – whose almond eyes widen as he yelps loudly.

He drops into a roll, narrowly avoiding the Bludger and sneers at me. I send him a venomous smirk in return.

Dodgy prat.

James is already at the goal posts when I turn my attention back to the game – he smoothly dodges Clery and scores through the middle hoop.

“POSSER… TOPPER… I MEAN POTTER SCORES. GRYFFINDOR LEAD 20-NIL.”

“Ly, what would you say if I asked you kindly to not injure my players!” Scorpius yells out as he barrels past me and I shout after him.

“In your dreams, Malfoy!”

I mark out Roxanne’s location before scanning the Pitch for the opposing Beaters. Brucklehurst has possession of the Quaffle. He dodges Louis’ attempt to slow him down. I swing a Bludger towards him, which misses by mere inches – Roxy dives to catch the rebound, and with a swing of her bat the Bludger hurtles back towards Brucklehurst, who swerves only a second too late.

The Bludger hits the end of his broom with a crack and he loses momentum for a moment. When he starts up again, Louis is in front of him and I take the opportunity to send a second Bludger his way. Brucklehurst swerves, startled, and loses the Quaffle. Louis swoops below and picks it up and I hear Pike swearing loudly from across the Pitch.

Immediately I trail Louis, keeping an eye out for Malachy. I hear a whoosh and catch a hurtling Bludger just in time, vaguely wondering if it was meant for me or Louis, and pelt it towards Higgs, who’s up ahead, disrupting his defensive manoeuvres. 

I pull up before Louis swerves forward and aims for the hoop – though shriek in frustration as Clery blocks the goal and the Quaffle goes to Higgs instead. 

I hear a loud whoop and eye Pike, who’s hovering not far off to my left. He’s grinning at me – his eyes glinting with a hidden malice. I ignore him and spot a Bludger hurtling below and take off towards it, but not before my path is blocked by Pike dropping down in front of me abruptly, and I pull back with a loud yelp.

“What’s the hurry, Scamander?” Pike drawls over the roar of the wind – his dark eyes, almost beady, boring into me. “Can’t your precious Captain last five seconds without you guarding his back?”

“Move it, Pike!” I spit at him, attempting to swerve around, but he continues to block me.

“Where do you think you’re going? Stay here with me.”

I don’t know if he’s distracting me or simply trying to get a rise out of me, but every second I spend away from the games grates on my nerves. I drop down, and he follows, and I grit my teeth before feinting to the right and swooping to my left. 

It’s only a few seconds, however, before he’s blocking me again – cackling as he says. “Relax, love. Your boyfriend can wait another minute or three.”

“What are you on about?” I hiss at him, my knuckles turning white where they’re gripped tightly around the handle of my broom. I inch my gaze around him to see Malachy swing a Bludger towards James, and hit him square in the shoulder. A breath escapes in a hiss between my teeth and I watch as Roxy only barely manages to intercept the second ball hurtling towards him.

So, it is distraction then.

An attempt to take out our best player so they have even a sliver of a chance at winning the match.

I feel a slight sense of panic begin to rise in the pit of my stomach, and grit my teeth against it. I need to get back into the game. I feel utterly helpless – cornered.

Pike veers forwards and blocks my line of sight. “Thought you and Potter were having some kind of lovers quarrel last weekend? Pretty nasty mark you left on his face, eh?”

“Get the hell out of my way, Pike, before I kick you off your fucking broom.”

“Huh? Big talk for such a little girl.”

And then I snap. 

I speed into Pike – smacking my shoulder into him roughly – though he barely budges, and the action serves only to aggravate him.

He sneers, revealing his teeth, and kicks me in the side with his leather bound boot, hard. The wind is knocked from me and I double over my broom in pain, wheezing, and faintly hearing the heated voice of Professor Quinlan from somewhere below us.

“PIKE!”

I suck in a deep lungful of air, and then heave my bat at Pikes head. It hits him, hard, and he cries out. And then with a bounce it plummets towards the Pitch below.

“SCAMANDER!”

Pike charges at me, bat drawn, and I’m about to duck before Professor Quinlan flies up between us with a whoosh of air and a fierce glare.

“FOUL! Both of you! Hit the benches for fifteen minutes, you’re out!”

I grit my teeth against the frustrated scream that’s building. I don’t dare look at James, knowing that if I hadn’t thrown my bat at Pike we would have gotten a free throw at the goal.

I soar down to the Pitch – feeling the unsteadiness in my feet for only a moment or two as I pick up my fallen bat and trudge towards the bench, falling down onto it ungraciously. Pike is kicking at his bench, swearing and sending me death glares. I ignore him and follow the match hungrily.

Slytherin score two goals in a row, and I scream up at Lysander from the ground, though I’m sure he can’t hear a word I’m saying over the noise of the crowd. I spy Albus hovering high above the other players.

Still no sign of the Snitch then?

The minutes drag on, but finally Quinlan lets the pair of us back into the game, following another stiff warning. I hop onto my broom impatiently and streak into the air – hearing Palomas clear voice carrying above the wind. 

“POTTER PULLS OFF A PARTICULARLY GOOD PORSKOFF PLOY, IF I HAVE TO SAY IT, AND DROPS THE QUAFFLE TO WEASLEY, WHO DODGES HIGGS – DODGES A BLUDGER FROM MALACHY – SAVED FROM A SECOND BLUDGER BY THE OTHER WEASLEY – PASSES THE QUAFFLE ON TO BELL WHO SHOOTS… AND SCORES! GRYFFINDOR LEAD 40-20.”

I assess the Pitch, though barely have a plan formed before I’m stopped in my tracks and I stiffen.

“MALFOY DIVES! HAS HE CAUGHT SIGHT OF THE SNITCH? WHERE ON EARTH IS ALBUS POTTER? THERE HE IS! HE’S DIVING! THE TWO SEEKERS ARE HOT ON THE TAIL OF THE GOLDEN SNITCH. OH WAIT – MALFOYS PULLING UP – HE’S LAUGHING – LOOKS LIKE A WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT, AND POTTER HAS FALLEN FOR IT. SHAME ON HIM.”

James swears loudly at Albus who’s on the ground, mounting his broom again before he kicks off. But Scorpius streaks below me in a blur of emerald green, and this time I know it’s not a feint.

I yell at Albus to hurry his arse up, and it doesn’t take long before he’s hurtling after Scorpius and the elusive Golden Snitch.

Almost everyone has stopped, watching the two Seekers in their race for the Snitch. But I know that thanks to Scorpius’ dirty tricks, he’s in the lead. I see James almost tearing out his hair nearby and I know that he’s thinking the same thing.

The Slytherins take advantage of the distraction and score another goal, and my fists clench tight.

I have to do something – we need to win this game.

This is my element. This is what I’m made for.

I have to act, fast.

I signal Roxy, who’s at my side in an instant and I shriek at her. “DOUBLE BLUDGER! MALFOY!”

She nods in silent understanding and we separate, searching for both Bludgers and Seekers.

The Seekers have disappeared into the thick of the fog after the Snitch, and I pray to Merlin that they reappear soon, or my plan will be for nothing.

I find my Bludger easily, and hit it in the general direction that I want it to go, keeping an eye out for Roxanne. She’s up much higher, and I’m instantly overcome with the feeling that this may not work at all – that we’re too far apart.

But I have no time to deliberate.

The cheer of the crowd alerts me to Scorpius and Albus clearing the fog, dropping down after the glint of the Golden Snitch, faster and faster until they even out and streak across the Pitch.

In an instant Roxy sends her Bludger towards Scorpius, and I wait a few seconds, racing the last few metres – my legs gripping my broom desperately before I use both arms to send the Bludger up. I notice at once that the timings off, but it has the desired effect – Scorpius swoops up to avoid Roxy’s Bludger, only to have mine hit him two seconds later. He spins, and Albus takes the lead for the Snitch

I let out a breath of relief.

The rest is on him.

Albus dives, inching closer and closer to the Snitch. One glove-cladded hand reaches out, leaving the other to desperately grip his broom for balance as he tumbles further forward.

And it isn’t long before the crowd is erupting in a deafening roar and Paloma is shrieking across the Pitch. “ALBUS POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH. 150 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR. GRYFFINDOR WIN 190-30!”

*

The first thing I see as I touch down on the ground is James, and the utter relief engraved in his broad smile. He steps forward and scoops me up into a tight hug before I’ve even had the chance to take the victory in, and I laugh breathlessly, my broom falling to the grass as I’m crushed against him.

And then another pair of arms are around us – and another, and another, until the entire team is squashed together in a group hug and I’m feeling so dizzily elated that I begin to see spots.

Oh wait, that’s just from lack of air.

We break apart and Albus throws an arm around my shoulder, grinning down at me.

“Thanks for the help up there, Ly.” He says, and I punch him in the arm affectionately before he swoops off and envelopes Roxanne in a crushing squeeze.

My eyes wander – scanning the Slytherin Team, who are all looking as down in the dumps as one another.

And then a thought hits me.

“Scorpius!” I call out across the grass, and he turns to me – mouth set in a tight line. I jog over to him, leaving my team behind me to celebrate.

“Hey, did you tell Pike to distract me?” I question him breathlessly, and his eyebrows furrow, “To say all that about James?”

Scorpius looks dumfounded and for a second a pang of guilt hits me.

Maybe I’m wrong.

“No, Ly – why the hell would I do that? We’re friends, aren’t we? Although after that play you pulled off at the end I’m not sure,” He spits, and before I can answer someone puts their hand on my arm gently, and Scorpius skulks off with his team. 

It always takes him a day or two to come right after a loss – not that my accusations have done anything to help that.

But now that he’s Captain, I just don’t know how far he would go to secure a win.

“Hey, are you okay?” James asks, turning me to face him, his forehead set in a worried frown. He releases his grip on my arm, and I push a few loose strands of blonde hair off my face and mumble to the ground.

“Just peachy,” I answer bitterly, though James just takes me by the chin and tilts it up so I’m staring into those warm, hazel eyes. He doesn’t look worried anymore. In fact, he’s kind of smiling.

“My parents are here. Come and see them.”

He takes my hand in his, and I barely have time to register the action before he’s leading me over to the spectators stand. We find the Potters easily – Ginny’s bright red hair standing out amongst the crowd.

I immediately throw myself into Ginny’s outstretched arms, smelling her familiar homely scent, and she laughs and says into my hair.

“Lyra, you were amazing out there! You and Roxanne are a match made in heaven.”

She takes my hands in hers and I beam at her. Her smile reminds me of how much I always miss my own parents when they’re away – though I know they would have loved to be here if they could.

“Tell me about it.” I answer with a grin, catching Roxy by the elbow and pulling her into me with a tight squeeze. She tries to brush me off, but fails, so settles instead for succumbing to my affections, and I poke her in the cheek and grin at her.

“Bloody good game, girls,” Harry says with a hug before saying. “Too bad about the foul, Lyra, but you could see from here that that Pike bloke was provoking it. By the way this is Orson Shuttleworth, he’s covering the game for the Quidditch Quarterly.”

Orson is a rounded, middle aged man with a wispy, black moustache. He’s wearing a sweater vest and a brown trilby hat, and holds a notepad in one hand.

“Lovely to meet you Miss Scamander,” Orson says with a firm handshake and I smile in greeting. “Can I just say that Bludger Backbeat you performed was superb. Excellent tactics – I’m sure you’ve learnt a lot from your new Captain, eh?”

“Natural talent, Orson,” Ginny interjects smoothly, pinching at James’ cheek playfully when he tries to argue against her.

Roxanne and I leave the Potters with Orson – James stuck answering multiple questions from the portly man – and soon find her Dad, George, talking to Professor Longbottom nearby.

“There’s my girl!” He exclaims as he spots Roxanne and lifts her off her feet in a crushing hug, before giving me a much more welcoming squeeze. Roxy, who doesn’t look impressed with her Dad’s antics in the slightest, tuts at him and attempts to smooth down his tousled, ginger hair as he chatters about the game.

“So like your, Mum – always fussing about,” George says warmly, and Roxy clicks her tongue and asks.

“Where is Mum, anyway?”

“She’s at work, I’m afraid. But at least your favourite parent is here, hmm?”

“Sure Dad,” Roxy says with an eye roll, and George ruffles her hair affectionately before pulling a couple of small boxes out of a leather satchel he’s been carrying.

“These are for my favourite Beaters. Don’t share them with the others.” He whispers, handing us each a box that clearly says ‘Sugarplums’ on the top.

And then he walks over to Albus and Louis and says exactly the same thing.

“I’m a Seeker,” I hear Albus saying, confused, and Roxy and I grin at each other.

We soon say our goodbyes to everyone, and after showering and changing, we all head back to Gryffindor Tower together, chattering happily about the game. The team is ecstatic, to say the least, and the feeling is contagious. I’m soon smiling so broadly that I expect my cheeks will be hurting for a week.

I can already hear music playing loudly as we approach the portrait hole, and we enter the common room to an applause of cheers. 

In an instant, Wade is at my side, offering me a bottle of Butterbeer which I take gratefully before being bombarded with a million questions, compliments and congratulations from my remaining House mates.

I only have to endure the attention for a few minutes, thankfully, before James rescues me – ushering me with his hand on the small of my back over to a quieter corner of the room. He leans against the stone wall – pushing the sleeves of his black sweater up over his elbows before folding his arms across his chest – and peers down at me.

“Congratulations Captain, “I say sweetly in an attempt to distract him from scolding me about my mid-air confrontation with Pike, as I’m sure he’s about to do.

“I think we both know I’m not the one who secured that win.” He says softly instead, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

I can feel my cheeks flushing, and look away quickly. James puts a hand on my arm, and I can’t help but look at him. My breath hitches in my throat as I notice the way the neck of his sweater comes down in a V, revealing his tanned chest underneath.

“How’s your shoulder?” I ask to break the tension, and he shrugs.

“Bruised, but it’ll be okay.”

“Oh, good…”

“So – what happened with Pike in the air?”

Ah, there it is.

I shake my head, paying particular attention to the ground. 

I don’t want to talk about it, really – especially not with James. Because I know what he’ll say. He’d laugh and say that Pike is an arsehole, that he’s delusional and has no idea what he’s on about. Because there’s no way that what he said would ever be true.

That there was no way that James and I could ever be– 

“He was just being an arse, as usual. Nothing to worry about,” Is what I say – still staring at the carpet under his feet. Still looking anywhere, anywhere, to avoid meeting those keen eyes.

And then his hand is on the side of my face, and it moves to cup my chin gently and I’m forced to meet his gaze. He bites his lip softly and something pounds a steady rhythm inside of me. And when he speaks, his voice is a mere breath.

“You’re an amazing Beater, you know that?”

My eyes widen. 

“Wow. There’s a sentence I never expected to come from your mouth.”

He grins, and taps me under the chin playfully. “Don’t get used to it, Scamander.”

Then he saunters off to talk with Lysander, and I watch him – biting my lip and taking a long sip from my bottle to keep myself from grinning like an idiot.

“You guys seriously were awesome out there!” I hear Pippas voice drift over as her and Roxy join me, and she speaks with bright eyes. “Honestly, it makes me kind of jealous that you have your own little duo on the Pitch.”

She pouts, and I laugh before throwing an arm around her slim shoulders and squeezing her against me.

“Come off it Bell – you know everyone was really watching you.”

“Yeah. How many goals did you score again?” Roxy adds, and Pippa’s lips quirk upwards.

“Okay, okay. I am pretty great, aren’t I?”

“Super,” I confirm, clinking my bottle against hers.

The three of us find Louis and Albus, and we all have stories to tell about the game. I feel elated. I’m having the best time – laughing and drinking – until I glance around the room and my smile falters. James stands near the staircase with Lydia, their heads bowed together as they talk quietly. Lydia has her hand on his arm, tracing small circles with her delicate fingertips, and as she throws her head back and laughs, her dark hair spilling down her back, he chuckles throatily as his eyes scan her face. 

My stomach plummets and I tear my eyes away from them, taking a long sip from the bottle of Firewhiskey that Louis has just handed me. The liquid burns my throat, numbing me, and I welcome the distraction.

“Ly, what’s wrong?” Pippa asks, stopping as she notices my fallen expression. Her mousy hair, tied in a ponytail, falls over her shoulder as she frowns at me.

I force a smile and stutter, “Nothing,” though she doesn’t seem entirely convinced. 

And then I remember what Bash had told me the other day.

He only likes what he can get from them.

Really? 

He only likes what he can get from them?

That only serves to make me feel even worse if possible.

Hang on… why do I even care?

I take another gulp from the bottle and pass it on to Pippa before glancing around the room again. Albus is telling his story of catching the Snitch for the fiftieth time, and I block it out until it’s only background noise. 

My eyes fall upon Bash, who is talking with Wade near the chess table. I’ve been catching his eye all night, though I had the feeling that he was subtly trying to give me space to celebrate my victory with the team.

Godric, could he be any more perfect?

His silver eyes meet mine again, and something warm spreads through me – although that could just be the Firewhiskey.

And before I know it I’m stalking over towards him, and he reaches an arm out for me. Wade makes some sort of comment about finding Louis, but I’m not listening. I’m much too preoccupied with Bash’s arm pulling me against him before he twirls a strand of my blonde hair around his finger.

“I think congratulations are in order,” He says, his voice soft – and I feel for a few seconds like we’re in our own little world.

When I speak, my voice comes out breathless. “I’ve had enough of those for one day.”

He sets his drink down on the chess table, and then both arms slide around my waist, pulling me in closer to him. His warmth runs through me and I know already that my face is flushed – but my heart pounds in my chest so forcefully that I don’t care.

He leans forward and runs his thumb over my bottom lip and my breathe escapes in a shaky sigh as he says in a whisper. “So, I’ve laid everything on the table – I’ve told you how I feel.”

My breath hitches as it leaves my mouth and his lips curve upwards at the sight. He smells amazing, like he always does, and I find myself leaning towards him further. And still he’s drawing me closer, tighter into him.

“Now I wonder if you feel the same.”

I let my arms snake over the white, long-sleeve t-shirt covering his arms and up his toned shoulders until they rest around his neck and I bite my lip gently before answering in a trembling breath.

“Can’t you tell?”

And then without so much as a warning, Bash is kissing me, and I’m letting him – Oh Merlin, am I letting him – and his arms are pulling me flush against him, and my hands tangle through his dark hair and his tongue runs over my bottom lip in a way that makes me sigh into his mouth softly.

The taste of him sets my skin on fire.

And I don’t care who sees.

Because the feeling is consuming.

It’s only a few seconds before I stop – before we get all too carried away – and I pull away to find him grinning down at me, his arms still holding me against him and his forehead resting against mine, and I swear the room has hushed.

And then a growl sweeps through the silence and I know – I know – that an onslaught of rage is about to hit me.

“What the fuck is going on?” The unmistakable voice of my brother washes over me and in an instant Bash ushers me behind him and stands in front of Lysander, taking the full brunt of his anger.

I’ve never seen Lysander look so angry in his life. Not even when Lorcan kissed his ‘girlfriend’ when they were eight years old and Lysander swore he would push his twin off a cliff. 

His sapphire eyes narrow on me angrily and he makes an attempt to reach around Bash for me, but Bash pushes against Lysanders chest, hard, and he stumbles back a pace.

“Lys, if you have a problem with this you come to me. Don’t take it out on Lyra.” Bash orders from where he stands in front of me, and I inhale sharply.

Lysander looks stunned for a moment, and then he growls and launches himself at Bash. I jump out of the way only a second before Lysander throws Bash against the chess table and hits him in the side of the face with a solid punch.

Bash lets out a groan of pain before he takes Lysander by the front of his shirt and throws him to the ground where he pummels into him – again and again – while Lysander locks his forearms above himself to ward off the attacks.

It isn’t long before Lysander manages to kick Bash off of him, and I grab my brother by the arm and scream at him.

“LYSANDER IF YOU TOUCH HIM AGAIN I SWEAR TO GODRIC I’LL DESTROY YOUR ENTIRE VIDEO GAME COLLECTION!” 

He ignores me and breaks from my grip easily, and it’s only when James steps in and restrains him that he stops – his breath heavy and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, as if he would jump back into the fight in a heartbeat.

Immediately I’m at Bash’s side, absolutely livid as I inspect the growing bruise on the side of his face and the cut under his eye.

“I’m okay,” He says, squeezing my hand in reassurance, and I turn on Lysander in fury.

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!” I shriek at him, advancing on him over the length of the common room where James has him pinned against the wall in an attempt to calm him. The common room is deathly quiet, and my furious voice echoes through the entire room.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH KNOX, HUH? WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS!” Lysander roars at me – his split lip leaking blood down his chin – and James makes every effort to shut him up.

“DO YOU HEAR ME COMPLAINING ABOUT THAT DIMWIT YOU’VE BEEN SNOGGING?” I make a brief hand gesture towards Marissa Darling, who’s standing with her daft friends and the rest of the group, looking nothing short of terrified. “STAY OUT OF IT!”

Lysander takes a breath to retaliate but James grabs him by the arm and says. “Just leave it, Lys.”

And then James shoots me a look which I swear is worse than anything I’ve ever seen from him before.

He opens his mouth to say something, but obviously thinks better of it when he shakes his head and walks off.

I turn away and head back to Bash, who’s letting Pippa heal the cut on his cheek with her wand. When she’s done he says, “Let’s get out of here,” and links his fingers through mine, guiding me through the crowded common room. 

I ignore the dozens of pairs of eyes on us, and the hushed whispers, until we’re out in the chill of the corridor with the portrait hole behind us and I let out an angry huff of air.

Bash opens a random wooden door further down the corridor and leads me into an empty classroom. In fact, it looks more like its abandoned – littered with broken chairs and mismatched desks.

I shuffle over to one of the desks as Bash shuts the door behind him, using his wand to light the darkened room, and sit on top. I’m still furious with Lysander – the insufferable bloody git has no right to try to dictate my life.

“Don’t worry about him, Ly,” Bash says softly as he comes towards me. Even with me perched on the edge of the desk, he still towers over me.

“He’ll get over it.”

“You think so?”

“I know it.”

My shoulders slump as I let out a weary sigh and Bash puts his hands on either side of my arms, rubbing some warmth into them. I look at him, and then suddenly let out a soft gasp at the sight of the nasty purple bruise developing on his cheek. I trace my fingertips over the skin beneath it, and Bash lets out a sigh through his wince, and then he leans forward and kisses me.

And I melt.

He starts off slow, but I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck, tugging at his hair gently and the touch draws a low growl from his chest and his resistance snaps. He kisses me hungrily, his mouth claiming mine – rough and hot – and when I use my legs to hook around his back and draw him closer, pulling on the front of his shirt, his hands instinctively clench tighter into my waist and a small, satisfying groan escapes from somewhere in the back of my throat.

And I wonder why I waited so long for him. Why I was so scared of what someone like my moronic brother might say about it to not go after what I truly wanted.

A shiver runs through me, from my neck down my spine, and Bash chuckles softly, though I silence him swiftly with my lips over his, demanding the taste of him as his tongue flicks over my lower lip and my fingers grasp the back of his neck, his shoulders – pulling him closer, tighter against me.

His lips tear from my own and move to graze my neck and he murmurs against my skin, between slow, gentle kisses.

“Maybe we should slow down.”

I bite my lip, pulling my face back from him and nod in a silent confirmation.

I mean, I hadn’t exactly… been with a guy.

If you know what I mean.

And I’m pretty sure that a dusty, old classroom is the least romantic setting for something like that.

He smiles at me, and I swear I feel some sort of wall inside me shatter. And I think he’s perfect – perfect – and I can’t imagine how I could ever be any happier than this.

*

A short while later we creep back into the common room, which still holds a scattering of students, most of whom are so drunk by this time that they barely register our presence. I say goodnight to Bash at the bottom of the staircase with a kiss, before tramping up them to my dormitory.

When I push the door open softly, everyone is asleep – except for Pippa, who’s sitting up against her pillow with a book in her lap and the small lamp on her bedside table flicked on.

“Hey,” She says in a sleepy whisper as I enter, and motions me over to her bed where she scoots over and I jump in beside her, pulling the covers up over my bent knees.

She looks me over – her emerald eyes worried. “Are you okay?”

I let out a low sigh and lean back into the pillow. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just angry I suppose.”

Pippa nods her head in agreement.

“I’ve never seen Lysander so mad before,” She says, her voice unnervingly quiet.

I don’t say anything – I can’t. Pippa continues when I make no move to answer.

“You really like Bash?”

I fail to supress the grin I’m trying to hide, so I cover my face with my hands instead and let out a groan.

“I really like him, Pip. Is that so wrong?”

“No – I think it’s adorable,” She says as she lies on her side and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “Don’t let Susan-sad-sack over there bring you down.”

I glance at Roxy’s sleeping form and giggle quietly before shuffling down in the bed and turning off the light.

“Thanks, Pip.”

“Night, Ly.”

 

**

 

A/N: Guyyyyyyyssssss... writing Quidditch is hard! I swear it took me SO long to write the game, and I'm still not hapy with how it turned out! Ah well, it gets the point across I suppose.

So what'd you think? Do we like how things are going with Lyra and Bash? Yes? No? Is Scorpius being way too touchy? Yes? are the Slytherin Beaters total creeps? Hell yes? Did Lysander completely overreact in this chapter? Yes, yes he did.

Thanks so much for reading! Also I have a new Next Gen story coming out very, very soon which I hope you'll read too :) Keep a look out!


	8. Fame and Fury

It hasn’t even been a full day and the news of Bash and I has spread through Hogwarts faster than a bout of Dragon Pox. And no amount of whining or pleading or even downright threatening could persuade Albus to pinch his brothers’ invisibility cloak so that I can eat my breakfast in damn peace.

  
  
I’m certainly used to my fair amount of attention, what with my parents being ‘ _famous_ ’ and all. I detest the word, it sounds so fake and flimsy. Like the _famous_ world-class Quidditch player, Marlo O’Daire, notorious for his elusive affair with the lead singer of the Snidgets. Or the _famous_ model, Odette Slayer, who models in all of the WonderWitch advertisements, as well as parades Victoire Weasleys designs on the London runways.  
  
Only a smidgen of what my parents had accomplished in their lives could truly be attributed to their title of famous. The rest could very much give them the status of legendary in the eyes of many who inhabit the ever-growing Wizarding world. And my brothers and I are stuck with the attention that our family name draws, without ever really having done anything to deserve it.  
  
In short, being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  
  
Especially when the whole, goddamn school thinks it’s their god given right to stick their nose into your – _until recently_ – rather lack-lustre love life.  
  
Phew.   
  
Rant over.  
  
“It’s about time you two finally opened your eyes and got together.”  
  
Wade is saying as he tosses a grape in the air and catches it in his mouth with perfected ease.  
  
I raise my eyebrows at him. I swear if that boy was still on the team we’d be wiping the floor with every other House this season without so much as breaking a sweat.  
  
“Well I’m glad _someone’s_ happy about it,” I manage to answer dryly – throwing a dark glare down the table at Lysander, who’s making out with his daft girlfriend over a bowl of fruit loops.   
  
The divide is noticeable. Lysander and James down one end of the table with Marissa and her friends, and Bash and Wade on the other end with us, minus Roxy who I hadn’t seen all morning. And then there’s Louis and Albus, who are kind of hovering awkwardly in the middle.  
  
Lysander is still furious. He hasn’t spoken a word to either me or Bash since our fight in the common room. And James? Well, I don’t exactly know where he stands in the situation, but he seems _much_ too happy currently having Lydia, Saffi and Zoe all hanging onto his every word.  
  
I bite into a piece of honey-smothered toast, chewing aggressively. I bet those slags are just _loving_ having his attention all to themselves. It makes me sick to see them ever get their way with anything.  
  
I, personally, couldn’t care less whether Lysander wants to be mad at the rest of the world or not. But I see the way it divides Bash and Wade from them and that’s enough to make me worry. The four boys have been best friends since First Year, and I have _never_ seen them fight like this before.  
  
And I can’t help the feeling that it’s all my fault.  
  
I notice a couple of Hufflepuff girls from the table over shoot me a curious stare as they whisper behind their hands, and I grit my teeth in annoyance, utterly fed up with being the centre of everyone’s gossip.  
  
Bash takes my hand under the table and squeezes it, and I realise for the first time that he’s been watching me.  
  
 _Great._  
  
I’m sure my emotions are written _all_ over my face, as usual.  
  
“So, plans for today?” Is the only thing he says when I refuse to look at him.   
  
“Quidditch meeting,” I answer between mouthfuls of toast. “And then I plan on having a long, hot soak in the Prefects bathroom. My arms are killing me after the game yesterday.”  
  
“Hang on, none of you lot are prefects,” Wade observes oh-so cleverly, and I send him a smile dripping with sweetness.  
  
“Perks on sharing a room with one, Thomas. Rose Weasley can be an absolute _gem_ when she wants to be.”  
  
“That and she doesn’t actually know we found the password list on her side table,” Pippa says, with only a smidgen of disapproval.   
  
“And there’s that too,”  
  
Wade quirks a dark eyebrow. “You guys know that I’m a prefect too, right?”  
  
“Yeah, but you don’t count.” I answer through a mouthful of the eggs I’ve just loaded onto my plate.  
  
Pippa shrugs her shoulders in agreeance.  
  
“Sorry, Wade.”  
  
Wade looks downhearted for a split-second, and then he shrugs casually and returns to his grape-tossing.   
  
I notice James and Lysander leave the table, though I ignore it. James had asked for us all to attend a tactics meeting that morning, which was the usual thing after a game. It gave us all the chance to discuss what went right, what went wrong, and what we need to improve on.  
  
I look down at my plate, still half full with food and think that they can wait – Godric knows it would do Lysander well to learn some bloody patience.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Pippa and I leave the Great Hall and head down to the Pitch, leaving Bash and Wade who are headed to the common room to make the most of the remaining weekend.  
  
“Where is Roxy? She’s been AWOL all morning,” I say with a nervous look around the Pitch as we approach the Quidditch office. The door to the small room is ajar, and I can hear voices drifting through the gap. The rest of the team is inside – James sitting behind the desk, with Lysander peering over his shoulder at some large sheet of parchment that James is scribbling on. Albus and Louis are lazing around in a couple of wooden chairs, looking nothing short of bored.  
  
They barely acknowledge our presence as I close the door behind me and move around the desk to stand on James’ other side and look at whatever it is he’s working on.  
  
“Finally, you’re all here.” He says with a mumble as he writes in the name “ _Roxanne_ ” under a crude drawing of a broom and sketches in an arrow. So it’s a new tactic then. Then he sets down his quill and sits back in his chair, and I lean against the desk as the others gather around, briefly catching Lysanders eye, who shoots me a dirty glare before shuffling to the other side of the room.   
  
Fine. If that’s how he’s going to be…  
  
“Alright,” James starts, addressing the team. “We’ve won our first game of the season, and I’m bloody proud of all of you. It was a close match, and there are definitely areas we need to improve on, but- hang on, where the _hell_ is Roxanne?”  
  
He looks between Pippa and I who merely shrug our shoulders, as confused as he is.   
  
“We haven’t seen her all morning,” Pippa explains, to which James raises an eyebrow.  
  
But it’s the truth. From moment we woke up this morning, Roxy was missing. At first we assumed she had simply gone down to breakfast early, but we never saw her there either.  
  
Louis lets out a nervous chuckle. “That girl is _never_ late. Should we be worried?”  
  
 _Should_ I be worried? I should probably be worried…  
  
I look at James helplessly. I don’t know what to say.  
  
Just at that moment, as if summoned, the office door swings open and Roxy clambers in, casually flicking her dark hair back over her shoulder as if she hasn’t had us all worrying for her immortal soul.  
  
We all look at her, dumbstruck, but she merely waves a hand at us and says. “So, what’d I miss?”  
  
“You being late, for one,” James says, giving her a stern glare. “As I was saying, there are things that we need to work on. I want to focus more on the Beaters plays. Lyra and Rox – you two were _key_ in our latest match. If you hadn’t pulled off that double strike at the end Malfoy would’ve had the Snitch in record time.”  
  
“That was all Lyra,” Roxanne sniffs as she picks at her nail polish absentmindedly, and I nudge her in irritation. I would _never_ have been able to pull of that play without her, and here she is carelessly tossing it off like it’s nothing.  
  
James gives her a questioning glance before turning to me. “Alright, Ly, how about we work on some new plays together before the next match?”  
  
“Sure,” I answer slowly, my attention drawn off Roxy and onto wondering why on earth he would trust me to do _anything_ for the team aside from batting Bludgers at the opposition.  
  
Have I missed something today? Surely there was something in the pumpkin juice at breakfast that has everyone acting so… weird.  
  
“Louis and Pip, you both have your strengths but it’s your weakness you need to bring up a level. At this stage if either of you get taken out by a Bludger, we’re royally screwed. I need you to be versatile enough to switch between shooter and mid-field,” James continues his ideas with the team, but after a while I tune them out and sneak a glance at Roxy.  
  
Where the hell _has_ she been all morning? It’s so unlike her to just go off on her own when usually she’s the mother hen, rushing us all and making sure we get to wherever we’re going on time.  
  
“So, we’re going to take a short break this week. Lys and I have N.E.W.Ts to prepare for and I’m sure the rest of you have work to catch up on.”  
  
My attention snaps back to the conversation.  
  
“Wait, are you serious?” Albus is asking, and James gives a swift nod.  
  
“We’ll start up again on Saturday.”  
  
A while later, after more tactics discussion, the team files out of the office – half excited for the time off, and half wondering what on earth they’re going to do with themselves. I linger behind, waiting for the others to leave before I slam a hand down on the desk in irritation.  
  
I see James’ eyebrows raise before his hazel eyes fix on me.  
  
“What is it, Scamander?”  
  
There’s something strange about his tone, and it rubs me entirely the wrong way, but I try to ignore it.  
  
“James, _please_ talk to him.”  
  
James lets the quill he’s holding fall to the table, and crosses his arms behind his head – looking me up and down quizzically, before answering with a click of his tongue.  
  
“And say what, Ly? You know how he feels about you and Bash.”  
  
“He’s being _ridiculous_.”  
  
“Is he? Think of it this way – how would you feel if Pippa started dating Lysander.”  
  
“That would never happen.”  
  
“We’re talking hypothetically here.”  
  
“Obviously, it would be the _worst_ idea in the world. Lysander would be an idiot, as usual. And Pippa would no doubt be left heartbroken and I’d be the one that has to pick up the damn pieces.”  
  
James nods, as if I’ve clicked something into place, and says.  
  
“Did you ever consider that maybe he’s worried?”  
  
I frown, and James shrugs.  
  
“What if one of you winds up getting hurt?”  
  
“It’s not…” I try to reason, but falter for a moment. “It’s not like that.”  
  
He rocks his chair back, leaning it on the back two legs, and waves a hand in the air.  
  
“He knows the two of you better then you know each other. Maybe he sees something that’s not going to work.”  
  
“And maybe we’re not talking about Lysander anymore.” I snap, and James has the decency to look sheepish.  
  
“Look, Lysander doesn’t give a shit what happens to me. In fact, he’d think it was funny to see me dumped by his mate, I bet. But whatever happens, I can’t stand around watching Bash lose his best friend.”  
  
James eyes widen for a second, and then he shakes his head and let’s his chair fall forward – his dark hair falling into his eyes.  
  
“I’m staying out of this.”  
  
 “Why?” I ask hotly, and this time he stands and circles around the table towards me, pointing an index finger in my face – his mouth twisted in a dark scowl.  
  
“ _Don’t_ push it, Scamander.”  
  
He turns to leave, but I grab him by the arm. Surprisingly he doesn’t resist.  
  
“James, I’m not asking this for me. I couldn’t care less who hates me and who doesn’t – but Bash doesn’t deserve to be treated like he’s doing something wrong, and you’re the _only_ one that Lysander will listen to.”  
  
James lets out a low sigh.  
  
“Lysander won’t budge – he thinks it’s a bad idea.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
He stops for a moment, thinking.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I think,”  
  
But it does. I want to tell him this, but the words refuse to leave my lips. James studies me for a few moments, as if he’s expecting me to say more. When I don’t, he shakes his head dismissively and stalks towards the door.  
  
A thread of hot anger flares in me and I yell at his retreating back.  
  
“Thanks for nothing!”  
  
He waves a dismissing hand at me over his shoulder before he disappears, and I can’t help but pout.  
  
I know I’m being childish, okay?   
  
I let out a frustrated huff and fall into the chair behind the desk, letting my head fall into my hands and my blonde hair tousle around my fingers.  
  
 _Thinking._  
  
Until my eye catches something on the parchment in front of me, and I frown. My name is written in capitals, with a circle around it, right in the centre of other various arrows and scribbled notes. As if it’s somehow important?   
  
I shake my head and look away. I don’t know what’s going on in James’ head most of the time and I can’t assume to know what strategies he’s planning for us all. At least I would have some sort of say in my part, if his proposed planning sessions work out.  
  
That is, of course, if we’re still both breathing by the end of them.  
  
Which is highly doubtful.  
  
Utterly defeated, I leave the office to find Pippa waiting for me at the edge of the Pitch, her eyes questioning. I quickly relay what James had said, before looking around and stopping suddenly.  
  
“Where’s Roxanne?”  
  
Pippa shrugs her slim shoulders and rolls her eyes tiredly.  
  
“She just ran off, mumbling something about Charms homework.”  
  
“We don’t have Charms homework.”  
  
“I know! That’s what I was trying to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen.”  
  
“Something seriously strange is going on here,” I say with a tap of my finger against my lips. And then I shrug. I’m sure we shouldn’t dwell on it…  
  
Roxanne is fiery, and stubborn, and Godric knows that she can more then take care of herself. The best course of action would be to wait for her to come to us.  
  
Right?  
  
*  
  
Pippa and I return to the common room late that night from the prefects’ bathroom, shrivelled up like old prunes and about ready to fall asleep where we stood. The perk of the prefect’s bathroom is that most of the prefects are too busy with their duties to actually have any time to use it.  
  
So what if we lingered in the scorching, hot waters for much, much longer than the recommended bathing time – we deserve the relaxation.  
  
At least that’s what we’ve been telling ourselves.  
  
The common room is quiet – inhabited only by a few people lounging in the chairs near the fire. I had barely taken a few steps when I feel something whoosh past me, and I turn just in time to see the Fat Lady’s portrait swing closed behind me by some invisible force.   
  
Immediately, I stiffen.  
  
What the bloody hell was that?  
  
All sorts of wild ideas start running through my head – Thestral, Demiguise, _Wrackspurts_.   
  
But there’s only one conclusion that makes sense.  
  
Pippa bounds over to speak with Rose and Kit, who are playing cards at one of the small tables, and I take advantage of her distraction to inch quietly from the room and back into the corridors.  
  
I ignore the Fat Lady’s warnings that curfew is fast approaching as I sneak quietly down the hallway, listening intently. I make it all the way to the end of the corridor before the lights begin to dim and I consider the prospect that I probably don’t even want to know where the individual is sneaking off to anyway, if it is indeed who I think it is.  
  
I’m just about to start heading back, when all of a sudden, I see it.  
  
The flash of a shoe, as if out of nowhere.  
  
 _Hang on_ – those boots look suspiciously familiar.  
  
I pull my wand from my back pocket, and speak in a hushed voice.  
  
 _“Homenum Revelio!”_  
  
There’s a startled squeak, and then my eyes adjust to the darkness.  
  
“Roxy?”  
  
Roxanne hesitates – her hazel eyes wide. There’s a bundle of shimmering cloth at her feet, which I recognise immediately.  
  
I knew it was the invisibility cloak, though I had expected it to be James, or even Albus, beneath it. I pace towards my best friend cautiously.   
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“I-I have some work to do in the library,” She says nonchalantly – though I can tell the tone is forced.   
  
“I couldn’t concentrate in the dorm.” She explains further, when I quirk an eyebrow, and I survey her form. She’s not carrying anything – how does she expect to study without her books? He dark hair falls over her shoulders in her usual flawless curls, and as the seconds go by she seems to compose herself.  
  
“You don’t have your books?” I question, and she lifts her chin.  
  
“I left my bag in the restricted section earlier.”  
  
My eyes narrow of their own accord. Something weird is going on.  
  
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask as she picks up the invisibility cloak and straightens it out.  
  
She flashes a smile, and this time I can see it’s genuine.  
  
“No, it’s okay, Ly – I just need to be alone.”  
  
“Okay…” I say, rather unsurely and she gives a small wave before draping the cloak over herself once more and disappearing into the darkness.  
  
Okay, now I’m worried.  
  
As I make my way back to Gryffindor Tower, a strange feeling washes over me – like there’s something that my best friend isn’t telling me.   
  
We have always, _always,_ shared everything together, but lately it feels like we haven’t quite been on the same level. And I’m not quite sure how to deal with that.  
  
The feeling subsides, however, when I re-enter the warmth of the common room, only to find my other best friend in desperate need of rescuing.   
  
Pippa is sitting with Rose and Kit, arms crossed against her chest and her mouth set into a grim line, looking very much like a little, cornered mouse, and the very sight of it sends a warning bell ringing through me.  
  
I immediately notice the source of her hostility – four familiar girls, who are draped over the crimson chairs in front of the fire. The hair on the back of my neck immediately stands on edge.  
  
“You’d be so _pretty_ if you just took your hair out of that sad ponytail for once, Bell.” Zoe Woodward is saying to Pippa as I approach the group and my ears ring even at the sound of her phoney voice, and a streak of heated anger courses through my chest.  
  
Nothing good _ever_ comes from our interactions with these girls.  
  
Lysander is bundled into an armchair with Marissa, while James is sandwiched on the sofa between Zoe and Saffi – appearing to absentmindedly be reading the book he holds in one hand, though by the twitch of his mouth I can tell he’s doing anything but. In fact the set of his narrowed eyes makes me think he’d rather be tearing shreds out of Zoe, and I wonder why he isn’t.  
  
Lydia is leaning over the back of the chair behind him – her raven hair falling over his shoulder as she points a slim finger at something on the page of his book, giggling into his ear and distracting him. The sight of it makes my stomach churn unpleasantly, so I force myself to look away.  
  
I brush past the group and towards Pippa, who looks very much like she’s about to rip someone’s head off. And that’s saying something for her – the girl would never even hurt a fly. But these girls are another story entirely.  
  
Without a word I grab her hand and steer her away from the group, ignoring the sneering, glossed up lips we leave behind. Though we barely make it three steps before Saffi’s voice rings out across the room.  
  
“So Bell – a little birdie told me you have a crush on Lysander. Isn’t that just adorable, Marissa?”  
  
Her words pound in my head and I stop in my tracks and turn.  
  
Marrissa is glowering darkly in our direction and Lysanders eyes are wide in pure disbelief. I wonder how he ever missed the fact that Pippa’s head over heels in love with him.  
  
Complete and utter idiot, that one.  
  
Pippa lets out a small, half-sob, and immediately she’s tearing away from me and out of the room through the portrait hole.   
  
“Good one, Kapur,” I hiss at the girl and send her an obscene had gesture, though she merely smirks at me in sadistic delight.  
  
At least James has the sense to look less than impressed at her behaviour.  
  
“Oh, Lyra,” Lydia straightens and sends me a smile dripping with venom. My lips purse into a tight line. “I just have to say that you and Bash are _so_ cute together.”  
  
I cross my arms, glaring at her impatiently. I don’t know what kind of game she thinks she’s playing, but I’m not having any of it. And then she purrs darkly.  
  
“After he hooked up with Zoe at the Halloween party, I wasn’t sure what his intentions were. But I certainly never expected _this_.”  
  
She spits the last word in utter distaste while looking me up and down, and my heart drops. It must show on my face because Saffi coos between her laughter and says.  
  
 “Oh, good luck holding on to a guy like _him_ , sweetie.”  
  
I shoot a last glance at Zoe, who’s looking entirely too smug, before dashing from the room and out into the corridor to find Pippa. As I’m leaving I can hear James’ voice behind me faintly saying.  
  
“That was _completely_ unnecessary, Kapur.”  
  
Once again I’m ignoring the Fat Lady out in the corridor, who is now shouting at me that it’s past curfew and I must return to my dormitory at once. I wrap my arms against me tightly to ward of the cold and bite my bottom lip between my teeth to steady it from shaking with emotion.  
  
I’m so stupid.  
  
I’m so, _so_ stupid.  
  
Bash and Zoe? I bet he’s liked her all along. I mean, why wouldn’t he? She’s gorgeous, and stylish and everything that I’m obviously not. I sniffle quietly and try to push the thought from my mind and concentrate instead on finding Pippa.  
  
I hear footsteps echoing behind me, approaching quickly, and I quicken my pace.   
  
“Lyra, _wait!_ ”  
  
It’s James. I ignore him, until he’s at my side – his hand on my elbow and his hazel eyes creased in concern  
  
“Leave me _alone!_ ” I snap at him, pulling back out of his grip. I’m on the verge of tears, and it shows in the shaking of my voice. I’m so mad at him that I can’t bear to even look at his face. How he can remain friends with the absolute scum of Hogwarts and still act like everything’s fine and dandy astounds me.  
  
James looks at me helplessly. “Why are you acting like this is _my_ fault?”  
  
“Why didn’t you _tell me?”_ I round on him at once, my voice strained with frustration, and he stops. All of a sudden he looks unsure. He hold his hands up in innocence and says quietly.  
  
“I didn’t want to interfere.”   
  
I scoff.  
  
“Jeez, thanks,”  
  
“Hey – would you stop walking away from me.” He says as I stride away from him again, and he jogs to catch up, falling into step beside me.  
  
“I have to find Pippa.” I say flatly.  
  
“I’ll come with you,”  
  
“I’d rather you didn’t.”  
  
“She’s my friend too, you know,”  
  
“Oh yeah? You did a great job of showing it back there.”  
  
“Come on, I was just about to step in before you did.”  
  
I purse my lips, tight, but say nothing else as we continue to pace the corridors together.   
  
Its past curfew – Pippa wouldn’t have gone far. We amble around the halls, poking out heads into the random doors lining the walls as we go.   
  
Soon enough we come upon a small alcove. It has a spiral, stone staircase that leads up to one of the smaller towers. Pippa’s sitting on the bottom step, her head in her hands and her mousy hair falling around her shoulders instead of in its previous ponytail. I creep forwards and sit beside her on the step, putting an arm around her shoulders.   
  
“Pip, are you okay?”  
  
“No! I feel humiliated,” She says, her voice quivering a little, and I push a strand of hair away from her face and wipe away a tear. I’m _so_ mad at those absolute bitches, thinking they can hurt my friend like this and get away with it.  
  
“The stupid thing is that I don’t even really fancy Lysander anymore.” Pippa says quietly, and I stop suddenly and stare at her, wide-eyed.  
  
She _what?_  
  
James crouches down in front of us and his forehead creases. “Uh… you don’t?”  
  
“How do I not know this?” I ask, my voice rising a little in manic confusion. Pippa gives me a pointed stare, and I can see the faint ghost of amusement on her lips.  
  
“Honestly Ly, you’re so caught up in your own world half the time.”  
  
“That’s true.”  
  
 James grins, and I smack him in the arm before growling. “Shut up.”  
  
He snickers a little before turning to Pippa. “Bell, don’t worry about what they say. They have nothing better to do with their time then belittle the people who threaten them,”  
  
“Me? Threaten them? I don’t think so…”  
  
“Are you kidding me? You have more talent in your little finger then Saff does in her entire body. You’re an amazing Chaser, you’re smart, and I hate to tell you Bell, but you’re pretty damn hot,”  
  
Pippa lets out a bubble of laughter and I smack James again, who chuckles.  
  
“And don’t forget you have two Beaters for best friends who will happily club anyone who hurts you,” I say, and Pippa smiles at me gratefully before pulling me into a hug.  
  
“You guys are pretty awesome when you’re not trying to kill each other. You know that?” She says, and James grins at me sheepishly.   
  
My smile fades, however, and I say to Pippa. “Don’t let them get you down, Pip. You’re better than that.”  
  
“I’ll try,” She gives a half-hearted shrug and rubs at her eyes, wiping away the last of the tears. “I’m sorry I took off – we should probably go back before we get caught out after curfew.”  
  
I link an arm through hers to head back to the common room, but James puts a hand on my waist gently and says to Pippa. “Go ahead. We’ll be there in a minute,”  
  
I promise Pippa I’ll catch up soon, and she gives us both a quizzical look before slinking back down the corridor, and when she’s gone I look at James, who has turned away from me and is running a hand through his dark hair. I hear him sigh, and I wonder what it is that he wants to talk about now. To be honest, I don’t feel much in the mood to be talking to anyone. Silence falls, filled only by the sound of his footsteps, and I have to ask.  
  
“I thought they were your friends?”   
  
He lets out a dark chuckle, and in the dim light of the alcove, the sound is oddly soothing.   
  
“To be honest they’ve been getting on my nerves for a while now. They’re like leeches, you know? Hanging on for dear life,”  
  
A small smile slides onto my face, and I pace a little before James rolls up the sleeves of his black sweater and takes a seat, then gestures silently for me to do the same. He’s sitting a few steps higher than me- his elbows leaning on his bent knees and his mouth resting against clasped hands. He takes a sharp breath before hesitating, and then he finally says softly.  
  
“I should have told you.”  
  
I bite on my bottom lip unsurely before waving a dismissive hand. I was so mad that he hadn’t only a few minutes ago – but that fire was beginning to dim. If anything, it was Bash who should have told me. And the fact that he hadn’t? Well, that was a little disconcerting.  
  
“You were protecting your friend. I get it.”  
  
James hesitates again, and studies me through hazel eyes for a few moments. This time I know that there’s something there – something that he’s not saying, though I can’t figure out what. Something in my chest is pounding furiously by the time his breath finally slips out in a whisper.  
  
“That’s not it.”  
  
I’m confused. I don’t understand why he looks so conflicted, and I certainly haven’t yet guessed what he’s trying to tell me – if that’s even what he’s trying to do at all.  
  
“Then what?” My voice comes out small, and he buries his head in his hands, letting his black hair spill over his fingers, and groans lowly.  
  
And then his voice comes out through muffled fingers. “I just… I don’t want to… uh, forget it.”  
  
He looks at me again and something about him seems so fragile, and I can feel myself crumbling. I shuffle up the steps until I’m sitting next to him, and he drops his hands when I take his face in my hands and make him look at me – trying to initiate any kind of response from him. His eyes are fixed on mine – like liquid gold – and I’m painfully aware of the unevenness of my breath.  
  
“James?” I say softly, drawing him into saying what he’s clearly struggling to say.  
  
He’s fighting it – I can see it etched all over his face and it pulls at my chest, but I can’t let go. He closes his eyes tight and covers my hands with his, letting out a shaky breath.  
  
“I don’t… want to get in the way.”  
  
I shake my head, trying to make the words make sense.  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
He smiles sadly, and gives my hands a reassuring squeeze.  
  
 “I’ll talk to Lysander, okay.”  
  
My eyes widen, and I stumble over my words on my tongue as all of the calm suddenly floods out of me and I remember Bash, and him and Zoe and everything that had just happened in the common room. I didn’t want to remember. I just wanted it to go away completely.  
  
“James, you don’t have to-“  
  
“No, I want to. I don’t know how much help it’ll do, but I’ll try.”  
  
“Thank you,” I breathe gratefully, before I’m kneeling in front of him and wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug.  
  
He stops for a moment, and then his arms are around me, pulling me tight. His knees are on either side of me and I don’t care how close we are – how it would look if someone were to walk around the corner right now. His arms are around my waist, holding me against him as he buries his face in my hair and the warmth of his breath tickles the side of my face, and the familiar scent of him makes my head feel light and airy.  
  
And suddenly, a strange feeling overcomes me. And I can’t explain it, but it’s the same feeling as the lake yesterday, like I want to stay here forever. The world constricts to only me and him. So I close my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. My breath hitches in my throat, and I _know_ we’re too close, but all logic seems to have gone out the window and instead all I care about is the warmth of his chest against me and the feeling of his fingertips grazing my skin under the spot on my back where my sweater has bunched up.  
  
It feels so simple. Like a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. Like something that I didn’t even know that I was missing. And I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it doesn’t feel like long enough when eventually I hear him saying my name in my ear.  
  
And then his forehead is against mine, and when my eyes flitter open they’re heavy. My heart pounds furiously in my chest as he stares at me through heavy, hazel eyes – his bottom lip held between his teeth.  
  
The sight of it does something strange to my body, and I take in a shaky breath.  
  
“James?” I ask quietly, and he makes a soft noise, and I forget what it was that I was going to say to him.  
  
“Come on, let’s get back,” He says finally, and helps me to my feet. “Before anyone starts getting suspicious,”  
  
Suspicious indeed.  
  
Why on earth would anyone be suspicious about a Captain and his Beater being out after curfew, alone, and in each other’s arms and-  
  
Oh…  
  
Never mind.  
  
We walk back to the common room in a comfortable silence, lost in our own thoughts, though I can’t help but sneak a glance at James and notice his downturned mouth and furrowed brow. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but as we approach the portrait hole I hear raised voices coming from inside.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bash is growling at Saffi as we walk in. The girl in question has her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed at Bash darkly, while Lydia stands beside her, rolling her blue eyes in impatience.  
  
Lysander is still sitting with his idiot girlfriend, the both of them being unusually quiet as they watch the exchange.  
  
“I was only speaking the truth, _Bastian_. How long before you get bored with little miss tomboy and go looking for something more… inviting?”  
  
“Kapur, that’s _enough_ ,” James barks at the dark-haired girl who first looks surprised to see the two of us, and then pouts at the ire in his tone.  
  
“Ly,” Bash starts towards me but I hold up a hand to halt him, and when I back away James is right behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.  
  
Bash’s silver eyes flash between me and James, and he reaches out a hand to me.  
  
“Can we talk?”  
  
I hesitate, but he looks so sincere – so desperate – that I nod my head sharply and without a glance back, I let him lead me up the stairs to his dormitory. He closes the door behind us with a click and turns to me, his hands held up before him as he gauges my reaction.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I hooked up with Woodward. I didn’t want to upset you.”  
  
I scoff darkly and cross my arms.  
  
“Good effort, Knox, but you failed in that regard.”  
  
“I know. I know, I’m so sorry,”  
  
And I can tell that he means it. He looks completely and utterly torn, and the sight of it tugs on something in my chest. But I’m still furious. I’ve been made out to look like a complete idiot, and the heat of anger is still coursing through my veins.  
  
I click my tongue impatiently and say.  
  
“What do you mean by _hooked up_?”  
  
“We just snogged. Nothing more, I swear.”  
  
“Do you like her?”  
  
“No.” Bash says firmly, “ _Godric, no_. It was just a stupid, drunk moment.”  
  
I’m trying to stay mad at him, I really am. But the way he’s looking at me makes me want to let that wall of ice melt and I have to stare out the window and into the evening sky to keep myself from doing just that.  
  
 _Damn him._  
  
When I feel his fingertips on my elbow I turn back, and he smiles down at me softly.  
  
“It’s only you, Ly. You’re all I want, and I won’t let _anyone_ ruin that, I swear.”  
  
I purse my lips tight, and look away.  
  
“Even if I am just a boring tomboy?”  
  
“Are you kidding me? You’re _beautiful_ – and trust me, you’re nowhere near boring. Kapur’s jealous –  do you see any guys lining to settle down with her?”  
  
At these words, I can’t help but let a small smile slide onto my face.  
  
“So is that what you’re doing? Settling down?”  
  
He grins sheepishly and runs a hand through his hair before saying.  
  
“For you, I’d do anything.”  
  
My lips quirk upwards and I can do nothing to stop it. Bash reaches for me, and I let him draw me into him and kiss my forehead gently. And it feels _good_.  
  
And I ignore the new, unfamiliar voice – the one that’s screaming somewhere, deep down inside of me.  
  
The one pushing me to find that missing puzzle piece.   
  
   
  
 **  
  
   
  
 **A/N:** _UGH, this is SUCH a filler chapter that it took me a ridiculously long time to finish. But it sets up a few important plot points, so hopefully from here it'll be a bit more exciting! Please don't give Bash too much hate (haha) he really does like Lyra! He's just in a bit of an unfortunate circumstance._  
  
 _Thanks for reading this far! Reviews are greatly appreciated xx_


	9. Distance and Loons

Scorpius isn’t in Potions.  
  
Nor is he in Alchemy when I settle into my seat beside Albus and Louis after lunch.  
  
A bubble of worry begins to grow inside me. He would never willingly miss his classes, something must be wrong. Something must be  _very_  wrong.  
  
 _Where is he?_  
  
Professor Crankshaw is prattling on about something that I'm sure isn't all that important at the front of the classroom, as I continue my silent, internal debate – going over all the reasons why Scorpius could possibly be absent. It doesn’t help at all to know that the last time I saw him, I was spitting accusations in his face on the Pitch.  
  
When I'm sure that Crankshaw isn't looking my way, I throw a questioning glance behind me at Ed, who pokes his tongue out at me in return.  
  
 _Charming._  
  
“Miss Scamander, please recap our topic from last Thursdays class.”  
  
An unimpressed voice trills across the classroom and I’m forced to turn around and face the wrath that is my Alchemy Professors withering glare. I wrinkle my nose in concentration.  
  
Thursday? Oh Godric, what did we cover on Thursday? I remember that day we had practice... Roxy showed up twenty minutes late, James yelled at her and Lysander threw one of  _my own gloves_  at my head.  
  
 _Concentrate, Lyra! That’s not going to help you now!_  
  
Albus clears his throat and slides a piece of parchment in front of me. I stutter stupidly as I read the words written on it, trying my best to look inconspicuous.  
  
“The combining of exploding fluid with... with...  snake figs? Oh, fangs! For use in medical practices.”  
  
I look up, hopeful of my answer, though my face quickly falls.  
  
“Thank you, Mr Potter," Crankshaw shoots me a reproachful look, and I mutter various obscenities under my breath and silently curse Neville Longbottom for making me take this class. Albus shoots me a sympathetic glance and I struggle not to elbow him in the ribs.  
  
"Today we will be putting into practice our theory. Everyone head into the lab and set up your equipment."  
  
I grumble all the way through the double doors to the alchemy lab, where I grab a box of supplies and all but elbow Florence Snell out of the way to take the bench beside Ed. He lets out a low sigh as I take a seat, and rolls his dark eyes.  
  
I ignore his hostility.  
  
"Hello Edgar," I say in greeting, and he snarls darkly at me.  
  
"What do you want now, Scamander?"  
  
"Only to know why my dearest friend Scorpius is absent from class."  
  
Ed snorts. "Friend? Didn't seem that way on the Pitch,"  
  
I scoff, a low sound in the back of my throat, and pull a small vial of exploding fluid from the box and uncork it, taking care not to spill any on the table. The sharp tang of the fluid pierces the air, burning my nostrils and making my eyes water. I don't know why I even bother with Higgs, honestly. The only reason I put up with him is because he's Scorpius' best mate, and Al and Louis seem to get on with him fair enough.  
  
Aside from that, he’s about as useful as an Erumpent turd.  
  
"No need to cry about it. He's left Hogwarts..." Ed says finally, more gentle this time.  
  
Okay, I take back what I said. I suppose he can be useful  _sometimes._  
  
I take advantage of the fact that he thinks I'm crying, trying to pry out more information. "Because I yelled at him on the Pitch?"  
  
He gives me a look dripping with impatience. "No,  _Princess Scamander_ , it has nothing to do with you."  
  
I give him a disgusted look at his accusation.  
  
"It's... family stuff. That's all I know," He adds as he uncorks his own vial of exploding fluid and immediately begins to splutter over the fumes.  
  
 _Git._  
  
I spend the rest of the lesson worrying about what could have caused Scorpius to go home, while simultaneously trying to not spill any fluid and blow up the entire classroom.  
  
What? It’s difficult sometimes...  
  
The class runs much later than usual, with Crankshaw keeping us behind until we had all perfected the solution, which apparently can't be left until our next lesson. Mine was passable, in his terms, but is hardly what I would call  _"Albus Standard"._  
  
 _Why does he have to be so good at everything?_  
  
No. Correction. Why does he have to be so good at the things that I'm rubbish at, I think as I glare daggers at the back of his head when we finally escape the lab and I start complaining.  
  
"You know, it's times like this when I regret letting Neville bully me into taking this bloody class. I should have stayed in Divination with Pippa and Roxy, at least then I'd have some excuse to catch up on sleep _and_  maybe even some guidance on my pathetic life,"  
  
Louis snorts.  
  
“Don't think you'd want to be there right now. What’s going on with Roxy, anyway?" He asks, and I throw my arms up in relief.  
  
“You’ve noticed it too!”  
  
"It's hard to not notice her tardiness," He answers with a look at Albus, who adds.  
  
"And the late nights."  
  
"And the moodiness."  
  
"Even more than usual."  
  
I let out an ungraceful huff in agreement. It just isn't like Roxy to cut Pippa and I out like this, and it's making me seriously worried about her. Her unusual behaviour the past few days is something I've never seen from her before.  
  
And on top of all that, I really just miss my best friend. Especially after what I had found out about Bash and Zoe last night, which was still making me feel strange towards him. Pippa has always been an amazing source of comfort, but Roxy is the fire that matches my own.  
  
I hate not having that around.  
  
Louis swings an arm around my shoulder and waggles his fair eyebrows at me in a way that makes me think whatever he's going to say next will make me want to smack him.  
  
“Maybe Freddie knows something?”  
  
I glower at him darkly and push him away. Roxanne and Fred have always been close, more so then me and my two brothers, who have always had each other and see me more as a nuisance then a friend. Still, there's a lot that Roxy wouldn't tell Freddie.  
  
“Yeah, you could trade him a snog for the info,” Albus quips with a smirk, and Louis whoops as they high-five.  
  
I swing my bag into Al’s chest.  
  
 _Hard._  
  
“Pip has classes alone with her all afternoon. She’s trying to find out what’s going on." I say in a measured voice, ignoring Al's groans.  
  
I don't miss the look that the two of them exchange, and I narrow my eyes in question.  
  
Louis shrugs. “Nice try, but Bell isn’t exactly Sherlock Holmes, you know?”  
  
I swallow thickly to mask my annoyance.  
  
Sadly for Pippa, I have to agree.  
  
We reach the Great Hall to find the dinner rush is dying down, and the Hall isn't as crowded as it would have been about twenty minutes ago. When we pick our usual spot at the Gryffindor table, Roxy and Pippa are still there - the first with her nose hidden behind a glossy, new magazine, and the other pouring over the pages of her much-loved copy of Pride & Prejudice.  
  
You could cut the tension with a knife.  
  
I prop myself down next to Roxy and across from Pippa. Roxy raises a perfect eyebrow but barely glances up from the magazine she’s immersing herself in while absentmindedly sipping from her goblet. I sneak a glance at the cover article and snort. Odette Slayer and Teddy Lupin?  
  
 _Absolute trash_.  
  
As if Teddy would go there when he has a girlfriend as gorgeous as Victoire Weasley.  
  
Louis immediately snatches the magazine from Roxy's hands and snorts at the image of his soon to be brother-in-law gracing the cover with his trademark turquoise hair and broad grin. We all know better than to believe the rumours that are written about our families in those things - but that doesn't mean they aren't at least entertaining.  
  
Taking advantage of Roxannes distraction, I use a hand to cover my face and mouth at Pippa.“ _Did you find anything_?”  
  
She shakes her head softly- nervously eyeing Roxy before letting her gaze drift back to her book.  
  
“If you’re trying to be discrete, Ly, you’re doing a terrible job.”  
  
Roxanne’s voice, laced thick with sarcasm, washes over me, and I sit up a little straighter.  
  
“Oh, Rox… didn’t see you there,” I say lightly, to which she lets out a huff of air and lets her goblet clang down on the table, looking thoroughly unimpressed.  
  
I survey her quickly - from her glossy curls to her french-manicured fingernails, nothing looks out of place. But the dark circles under her eyes, not as well concealed as she thinks, tell another story entirely.  
  
"If you have something to say, Lyra, say it to my face."  
  
Albus and Louis are shooting us nervous glances from down the table, probably ready to bolt if things turn sour. Roxy and I don't exactly have the most subtle of personalities, which is usually why we understand each other so well.  
  
Right now though - I have  _no idea_ what she's thinking.  
  
"Fine," I say as I turn on her and fix her with a pointed look. "What's going on with you?"  
  
She rolls her eyes, but I don't miss the flush that crawls over her face. "What are you on about?"  
  
"You know  _exactly-_ "  
  
"Honestly, with you, I never know,"  
  
"Would you stop being so-"  
  
"Would  _you_  stop trying to-"  
  
"Both of you stop!" Pippa shrieks, her emerald eyes wide, and the two of us freeze. It isn't often that Pippa raises her voice at anyone. She's even knocked over her precious book and everything.  
  
I'm a little bit terrified, to be honest.  
  
“Roxanne Ginevra Weasley – you have some  _serious_  explaining to do," Pippa says, a little more calmly, and Roxanne takes in a sharp breath.  
  
My voice is strained when I speak next. “What happened to no more secrets? We promised, Rox.”  
  
Immediately I know I've said the wrong thing. Her eyes narrow on me in hazel slits, and the colour rises to her cheeks. “Oh, like you’ve been  _so_ open and honest about you and Bash?”  
  
My mouth drops open. “Is  _that_  what this is about? I know you don’t like him. You can  _tell me_.”  
  
The sound of her fingernails clack against the wooden table as she stands and glares at me, her eyes burning. “God, Lyra – not everything revolves around _you!”_  
  
And then she strides away, leaving me staring after her –  _dumbstruck._  
  
In a panic, I turn on Pippa, my voice rising hysterically.  
  
“Do I  _really_ act like everything’s all about me?”  
  
When Pippa doesn’t answer right away, I throw my hands up in frustration and growl.  
  
"Oh my god! I am the  _worst_  friend!”  
  
 _First, I yelled at Scorpius on the Pitch. And now all this with Roxy..._  
  
 _I might as well win the damn award for worst friend of the year!_  
  
“No, Ly – you’re not,” Pippa shushes me, attempting and failing to control my outburst as I continue to pull at my hair feverishly. “There’s clearly something going on with Roxy. She wouldn’t usually act like this.”  
  
That still doesn't answer my question, and I'm too busy trying to conjure up all the times when I've been too absorbed in my own problems to worry about my friends, when something hits me in the forehead.  
  
I turn on Pippa, who has just flicked a spoonful of peas at me.  
  
 _That dirty, little..._  
  
"What?" She says with a shrug. "I had to calm you down somehow."  
  
My eyes narrow into sapphire slits, but she maintains her sternness.  
  
"I just think... you were a bit blunt with her. You have to be more understanding. Coax the problem out of her instead of immediately putting up your defensive walls."  
  
"If that approach has any chance of working, Pip, you would already know everything," I say, a little too snappily.  
  
Pippa sighs, ignoring my accusation. "You should eat something."  
  
I'm not at all happy, but I start to pick at the food in front of me and put a few things on my plate.  
  
"Okay, enough with the arguing, and no more talking about me. What about you? You said you don't fancy Lysander anymore. And while I'm thrilled, trust me, why the change of heart?"  
  
Pippa tilts her nose in the air and waves a hand. "I've come to realise that anyone who's dim-witted enough to date Marissa Darling isn’t a good match for me."  
  
I eye her, amused.  
  
 _Finally._  
  
"Is there someone else?" I pry as I shove a forkful of chicken in my mouth and praying the name  _'Lorcan Scamander'_  doesn't leave her mouth.  
  
"As a matter of fact, yes."  
  
"Do I know him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"What's he like?"  
  
Pippa thinks for a second. "Well, he's tall, dark and handsome. In that classic kind of way, you know? At first he seems arrogant, but once you get to know him he's generous and sensitive and... disgustingly rich,"  
  
"And what's the name of this oh-so charming gentleman." I ask, my suspicions raised.  
  
Pippa shrugs and says as she picks her book up and flicks to the page she was reading earlier. "Mr Darcy."  
  
"Pip! How many times have you read that bloody book?"  
  
"Not nearly enough."  
  
I roll my eyes, but can't help but giggle at her fantasies. Better she love a fictional character then most of the idiots around here, that's for sure.  
  
As we enter the common room later that night, Roxy is still nowhere to be found. I feel horrible about our fight earlier, but I can't help but wonder what it is that’s making her so distant. None of it makes sense to me.  
  
Lysander is sitting on one of the couches with Marissa, the two of them wrapped up in each other in a way that makes me have to fight the urge to throw up my dinner. Saffi and her other horrible friends are spread out around them, while James sits a little further away in an armchair.  
  
No sign of Bash, though with Lysander still acting like a complete prat, I didn’t exactly expect the two of them to be anywhere near each other.  
  
I take a step towards James, and then think better of it and stop.  
  
A thick book is hovering in the air just to the side of him, while he scratches away with a quill in his notebook – every so often glancing up at the book to take down another note. It lazily flicks its own pages at his command.  
  
I can't help but let the memory of last night, out in the corridors, run through my head. The memory of being so close to him. It’s totally absurd, the way I’d been feeling lately. I had been so  _comfortable_  around him, and that had never been the case before.  
  
Usually we were ripping off each other’s heads – not being so  _civil –_  and certainly not being  _so close_. And who am I to be hugging guys who aren’t my boyfriend out in the seclusion of the corridors anyway? Especially after being so mad at about Bash and Zoe at the Halloween party.  
  
 _And the two of us weren’t even together then!_  
  
I mean, it’s not like there’s anything between James and I – there never could be. We drive each other completely mental, and not to mention I’m  _totally_  not his type. Unsteady friends is all we could ever hope for.  
  
Still, I owe it to Bash to keep my distance.  
  
Which also means no passing out in Albus’ bed when I’m too hammered to get to my own.  
  
Man, relationships are  _hard._  
  
Realizing that I’m hovering rather awkwardly in the doorway, I instead head towards James. He doesn’t look up as I approach, but as I squeeze myself into the chair beside him, he gives me a pointed look. He doesn’t protest, so I settle myself against him more comfortably, before I freeze.  
  
It’s been all of two seconds and already I’ve failed my plan. I mentally slap myself, before remembering why I had come over here in the first place and convince myself that it’s for Bash’s own good anyway.  
  
He’d totally understand. Right?  
  
“So, how did the talk with Lysander go?” I say in greeting, keeping my voice low even though we're far enough away from the others not to be overheard.  
  
He’s wearing his black, thick-framed glasses. Usually I’d know better than to distract him when he’s in ‘study’ mode, but if I don’t talk to him while he’s alone, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance, especially with his 'groupies' hanging off him every chance they get.  
  
Even now there's a trio of fourth year girls hanging around the chess tables and glancing over at James longingly while simultaneously shooting me death glares.  
  
I ignore them. I've been around James long enough to know that these kind of girls are simply background noise to him, and it's best to not provoke them into thinking they're anything but.  
  
And anyway, I need details.  
  
 _Stat._  
  
I say this very thing to him, and he looks at me as he twirls his quill between his fingers, one eyebrow raised, and I swear it takes him half a century to adjust his glasses before he says.  
  
“Well, he’s not scowling at you anymore.”  
  
 _Good one, Sherlock._  
  
“Because he’s too busy sucking face with the leech at his side,” Is what I actually say, and he quirks an eyebrow as I glare at the Skank Brigade, as I've so affectionately come to call them.  
  
It strikes me as odd that none of them are sitting near James, as usually they’re hanging all over him, which makes me wonder what he said to Saffi last night after we returned to the common room.  
  
From the jaded glares she keeps throwing across the room, I’m guessing it wasn’t anything particularly nice.  
  
The thought of that makes me feel  _so good_  inside.  
  
“You’ve got to give me some time, love. He’s possibly even more stubborn then you, and that’s saying something.”  
  
I nudge him in the arm, and he chuckles softly. Curiously, I find myself thinking how much I love that sound – his laughter. Probably because it means he’s not mad at me for something or other, or punishing me on the Pitch.  
  
He scratches a few more words with his quill before he puts it away and I glance at him, watching him sweep his dark hair back, only for it to fall down over his eyes again. All of a sudden I feel too hot, too close, and my skin prickles with the burn of electricity. My throat tightens, and I have to shake my head to try and clear it.  
  
The common room is crowded, and by the miserable look of everyone I’d guess that the Professors were as generous with handing out homework to everyone as they were with me. Homework that I should probably be working on right now.  
  
Yes. Homework is a much better alternative to sitting squashed up in an armchair with my Captain slash maybe-friend.  
  
 _I should leave_.  
  
The Skank Brigade are now all shooting me disgusted looks.  
  
I should  _definitely_  leave.  
  
 _I can’t breathe._  
  
I stand, but a firm grasp around my wrist pulls me back down and with a yelp I all but fall into James’ lap. I can feel his breathy laughter against the back of my neck as I try to re-adjust myself beside him.  
  
“While I’ve got you here, I want to show you a play I’ve been working on.”  
  
I think the Skank Brigade are trying to non-verbally hex me now.  
  
I laugh awkwardly and try not to meet any of their eyes.  
  
“What happened to no Quidditch this week?”  
  
He shrugs as he shifts against me, giving me more space, and then leans forward to pull a sheet of parchment from a stack of books on the floor and I have the sudden urge to lean forward and sweep that messy hair out of his face.  
  
I fight the urge.  _Hard._  
  
“I don’t know, when I get something on my brain I just can’t… shake it,”  
  
I bite my lip to stifle a reply and let him spread the parchment out over our legs, which are squashed together. I squirm a little, uncomfortable, until James grabs one of my legs and drapes it over his. I almost squeak in surprise, but he merely throws me an amused grin and says, "Much better," before folding out the parchment again.  
  
No. No, no, no. This is  _not_  part of the plan.  
  
I swear I hear a hiss somewhere over by the chess tables.  
  
This boy is quite possibly going to get me murdered.  
  
He doesn't seem at all phased, however, and instead starts to point out different sections of the play to me.  
  
"So, when we get back into practice I want to try pairing you and Roxy up with us Chasers. The two of you work amazing together, but we need to develop your sense of tracking the rest of the team, and not just each other."  
  
I hesitate, and he notices.  
  
"This _will_  work, Ly. Roxanne will be with Louis, and you'll be with me, leaving Pip as the primary scorer where she needs to learn how to watch her own back, instead of relying on the two of you all the time."  
  
I look over the diagram he's drawn up, lingering over our two names, side by side.  
  
"You really think it's the best idea to pair the two of us up?" I question, and he gives me a lazy grin, followed by a soft chuckle.  
  
"We should be together, don't you think?"  
  
 _What did he just say?_  
  
I scan those hazel eyes as he watches my reaction, and I try to keep my face normal, even though my throat is tightening uncomfortably. Something in the way he said that sounded odd, and I would have asked him what he meant, were I able to make any sound other than a strangled squeak.  
  
And then another thought hits me. Roxy and I have never fought before, not even when we were kids. We've spent our whole lives as best friends, only adding Pippa to the mix when we started Hogwarts. We've always been so in tune with each other. I don't know what this means for us as Beaters.  
  
"What's wrong?" James asks, noticing my hesitation.  
  
I swallow thickly. "It's nothing, really..."  
  
“James, will you help me with my Charms essay?” The soft lilt of Lydia's voice drifts over, interrupting me, and I narrow my eyes at her while she gives me a smile positively dripping with mock sweetness, stepping slowly towards us.  
  
“I’m busy,” James says, his voice irritated and his eyes never leaving my face. I don’t miss her pout as she backs away from our chair, though I feel too conflicted to be triumphant about it.  
  
James reaches out to tuck a stray, blonde strand behind my ear as he leans forward.  
  
“Stop being stubborn. Tell me what's-”  
  
 _“James…”_  
  
My mouth twists into a dark scowl as Lydia leans over the back of the armchair, her face in between James and I as she purrs into his ear. "I could really use your help  _right now_."  
  
I would have pushed her right out of my personal space had something not caught my eye, shifting my attention. Bash steps into the common room from the dormitory staircase, and I don’t miss the questioning glimpse in his stormy eyes.  
  
I inwardly curse myself. This is exactly the kind of situation I had wanted to avoid when I had decided to keep my distance from James.  
  
James is attempting to ward off Lydia from beside me, and I let out a weary sigh.  
  
“Maybe we should talk later.”  
  
As much as I hate seeing him in Lydia’s clutches, I have a feeling that she is not going to give up anytime soon, and I don’t have the mental energy to fight this battle tonight.  
  
James’ face is unreadable, though Lydia smiles at me demurely as she drops into my place beside him – her sapphire eyes holding all the hatred of a hundred burning hells.  
  
Seriously, what is up with this girl?  
  
I mean, she has everything in life – she’s gorgeous, has a wealthy and well known family, and as much as I hate to admit, she’s not all that lacking in intelligence – yet she looks at me like I’m some kind of  _rival_.  
  
“Wait –“ James starts, his fingers brushing my arm in a caress of welcoming heat. But I’m already gone. Stalking across the common room and plastering a false smile on my face as  I run straight into Bash’s arms.  
  
If only it was real. If only I didn’t have to hide the fact that I would much rather be working on Quidditch plays with James, and keeping him out of Lydia's slimy grip rather  then spending time with my own boyfriend.  
  
 _Godric, that is so wrong._  
  
And it can’t be true... it just  _can’t be._  I’m probably just missing Quidditch. After all, it’s been more then forty-eight hours since I’ve played.  
  
 _Wait... is that all?_  
  
"Hey, gorgeous," Bash says as he greets me with a kiss, gentle at first, his hands tangling in my long hair and then hungrier... almost possessive. I put a hand against his chest to stop him, taking in the stares directed at us.  
  
"Bash, stop..."  
  
He pulls back an inch to rest his forehead against mine, his hands still cupping my face.  
  
I don't know if it's just me or if there's a strange kind of glint in his eyes.  
  
"What were you two up to?"  
  
I follow his nod to James' direction, and when I look back Lydia has both of her legs draped over his, flicking through a book in her lap while she babbles away to him.  
  
My stomach flips unpleasantly, and then it drops completely when I notice Zoe smirking at the pair of us impishly.  
  
"Quidditch plays," I say with a shrug, though my head feels strange. I don’t feel like myself at all.  
  
Bash puts a hand under my chin gently. "Want to go for a walk? Wade's patrolling tonight - we shouldn't have any trouble."  
  
I stutter. "I-I actually have some homework I have to finish."  
  
 _It’s not like I’m lying._  
  
"Okay. Do you want some help?"  
  
I look at Bash, and he looks so sincere. So warm and inviting. And before I know it I’m nodding my head and we’re heading up the stairs towards my dormitory.  
  
The room is empty, which only serves to make me feel even more awkward as I close the door behind us. Sure, I've had boys in my dormitory before, but only friends or family. This is something  _quite_ different.  
  
Bash picks my bed out easily – the only unmade one in the room – and smooths down the blankets before he lies back against the pillows and grins at me. And it’s infectious.  
  
I bite on my bottom lip nervously as I pull my Potions work out and perch cross-legged at the end of my bed. Bash shifts behind me, slinking an arm around my waist as he pulls me back against him and looks down at the book from over my shoulder.  
  
“Veritaserum, huh? Tough one.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What mark did you get for it last year?”  
  
“’Exceeds Expections’ of course.”  
  
“Good, then you’ll at least be some help,” I tease, leaning back to kiss him on the cheek.  
  
I feel his chest vibrating behind me as he chuckles and says, “ _Smartarse._ ”  
  
We work well for a while, me filling in the various instructions for brewing the potion during the various phases of the moon over a month, and him giving me suggestions when I struggle. The work doesn’t seem too hard, compared to what I’m usually faced with in Potions, which I’m thankful for.  
  
I don’t need my boyfriend knowing how completely useless I am at the subject.  
  
Bash soon grows restless – obvious by the way he starts placing small kisses on the base of my neck, sending electric shivers running up and down my spine. I bite my lip, suppressing a grin as I try to continue with my work, though fail completely when a small gasp of pleasure escapes my lips and he pulls aside the fabric of my top to rain kisses over my shoulder.  
  
With my notebook now pushed aside and thoroughly forgotten on the floor, I turn and catch his lips with my own, sighing into his mouth as he slips his hands around me and pulls me close against him. And I can’t stop. I can feel a new warmth running through my arms, and legs and stomach and  _everywhere_  else.  
  
He pulls me into his lap, his hands running over my arms and down my back and lower still, and my hands wrap around his neck – pulling him closer,  _closer_  still. His mouth is so hot on mine, his lips so tempting, and it’s only when his hands start to work under my top, running over the skin on my back, that I freeze.  
  
“Bash...  _Bash_ , I really do have to get at least some homework done,” I breathe against his lips, and he lets out a low groan as he pulls back.  
  
I feel a little guilty, getting so worked up only to stop it there, but the fact is that I’m just not ready to go any further. I don’t say this, but he seems to understand as he says, “Okay, okay. I’ll be good,” and puts his hands behind his back, although his smirk suggests quite the opposite. I giggle stupidly and kiss him one last time before pulling the notebook back towards me, and lay on my front next to him.  
  
“Okay, instructions for maturing the potion during a waning crescent moon,” I say as I tap my quill against my bottom lip in thought, and he tucks a few blonde strands of hair behind my ear, distracting me once again.  
  
My stomach flitters uncontrollably, but still I let out a disapproving growl and he laughs and pulls his hands back.  
  
“Waning crescent, okay... Lydia had trouble with this one too – kept getting the waning and waxing mixed.”  
  
Before I can stop myself, I let out a low, condescending laugh – remembering the scene with her in the common room earlier.  
  
“What is it?” Bash asks, brows furrowed, and I shrug.  
  
"I just... I don't know why Lydia hates me so much... I haven't done anything to her."  
  
He stops – his face changed. It takes a while before he speaks again, and when he does his voice is different.  
  
"Have you ever noticed how strange your relationship with James is?"  
  
I definitely wasn’t expecting a question like this, and I stumble a little as I answer. "Yeah... I guess it's pretty chaotic,” I hesitate, “I'm sorry if it affects your friendship with him."  
  
Bash lets out a breath, and his voice comes out laced with impatience.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that."  
  
I stare at him, utterly confused, and he tears his gaze away from me.  
  
"I know how Lydia feels because sometimes I feel like... I'm intruding on some kind of territory."  
  
I let out the breath that I was holding in.  
  
"His?"  
  
He nods.  
  
"Bash... he's my Captain, he's my brothers best friend, and sometimes, very rarely, I might even consider him my own friend. Nothing more."  
  
All at once Bash’s eyes turn as hard as stone – as unforgiving and turbulent as storm clouds. "I can't tell if you believe that or not."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing, just forget I said anything,” He says as he pushes himself up from my bed and runs a hand through his mussed-up hair. “I should get some sleep, I have a practice exam in the morning."  
  
I try to stop him – because really, I don’t want him to leave. But he goes anyway, leaving me stuck alone and wondering  _what the hell_ just happened.  
  
I fall back on my bed and slap a hand to my forehead. What the hell did he mean by what he said? Was he implying that there was something more there between James and I? Because that certainly wasn’t the case...  
  
 _Wasn’t it?_  
  
I bury my head in my pillow and groan lowly. I don’t feel angry – not really. Just confused more than anything. In a huff, I rip the crimson curtains around my bed, blocking out the rest of the room, and try to forget it all and get some sleep. I lay that way for a long while, thinking over and over about what Bash said.  
  
One by one I hear the girls each come in and go to bed, and when I can’t stand my own thoughts anymore I force myself up and out of the room.  
  
I should find Bash – I should apologise to him for any misconception that I’ve given off. It’s the only thing that will make me feel any better.  
  
I tip-toe into the dim light of the corridors and start to head downstairs, stopping in my tracks only when I hear whispered voices drifting up to me from the bottom of the staircase.  
  
"It's not gonna happen, Saff."  
  
My head snaps up. I’d know that voice anywhere.  
  
 _James._  
  
"Come on, I just want to talk,"  
  
The sickly sweet voice of Saffi Kapur.  
  
A disbelieving laugh. "Talk? Sure..."  
  
"It's not like there's any exams tomorrow. We can afford to stay up."  
  
No exams? Why would Bash lie...  
  
I would have missed the silky thread of a voice if I wasn't listening closely.  
  
 _"James, I miss you..."_  
  
Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds more, followed by a low growl and James' husky voice.  
  
"Fine."  
  
The echo of footsteps – I turn to hide, but quickly realise that they're heading in the other direction, to the boys’ dormitory.  
  
I let out the breath that I was holding in, which comes out in a strangled gasp as a sensation that feels like a hot poker streaks through my chest.  
  
 _How could he? After how horrible she's been..._  
  
Maybe I really am stupid to think he could ever be anything remotely like a friend to me.  
  
For a long time afterwards, I sit in the common room alone, cross-legged on the sofa and watching the embers of the dying fire. I feel numb, and like everything’s falling apart around me, and I don’t know how to stop any of it.  
  
"Hey..."  
  
The voice startles me, and when my head snaps to the side James is standing there, his eyes creased in concern as he looks me over. His chest is bare, revealing every perfect curve of his body – he’s wearing only a pair of navy tracksuit pants – and a sickening feeling creeps up inside me. All I can think about is Saffi  _bloody_  Kapur running her hands all over him.  
  
I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to stop from hyper-ventilating.  
  
"I forgot my books," He explains softly as he rounds the couch and takes the seat next to me.  
  
"Oh," Is all I can say. If I attempt anything more, I feel like I might fall apart completely.  
  
His hair is even messier than usual. I don't want to know why.  
  
I just want him to go away.  
  
"Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Don't lie to me," He growls, his voice changing, and all of a sudden his face is dangerously close to mine, my eyes level with his lips. I turn away, but he grabs my chin in his hand and forces me to face him.  
  
I look anywhere but at him – the sofa, my hands fisted together in my lap, the dying fire beside us. But I can't look in those eyes.  Not when I know whose upstairs waiting for him.  
  
"Do you want me to stay?" His voice comes out much softer then I had expected, and finally my gaze snaps to his.  
  
 _Yes. Stay with me._  
  
 _Anything to keep you away from that horrible, insufferable wench._  
  
"No. Just  _leave_ ," Is what I actually say, my anger flowing thicker with every word, and as I snap myself out of his grip he lets out an exasperated breath. And then, because I can't help myself, I hiss.  
  
"I'm sure Kapur's  _waiting_  for you."  
  
He looks taken aback for only a second, and then he rights himself again, and the James that I know and loathe returns.  
  
“And I thought you’d be spending the night with Bash,” He spits back, and a lump rises in my throat. I will the tears not to fall, but they threaten to spill at any moment.  
  
After that, he lets out a heavy sigh and I feel his weight shift as he moves away from me.  
  
"Goodnight Ly," He says softly, bending down to kiss the top of my head before I hear his footsteps disappear behind me.  
  
Anger washes over me and I grit my teeth against it. I'm so mad at how he could let someone as evil as Saffi into his bed after the way she treats his so-called  _friends_.  
  
Selfish, that's what it is, and I don't know why I'm so surprised. Since when has James Potter ever thought of anything other than himself?  
  
I don't know how much time has passed when my anger finally begins to ebb and the first teardrop falls. But after that, there's no stopping them, and I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them as the sobs consume me.  
  
After a while a footstep pricks my attention, but before I can register the presence I'm being wrapped in warm arms and when I bury myself into the chest I'm held against, the tears fall freely, and there's nothing that I can do to stop them.  
  
At first I think it's James, but when I look up, I'm facing emerald eyes instead of hazel. Albus smiles down at me softly.  
  
"Tell me who upset you and I'll give them two black eyes."  
  
I chuckle softly, but I don't say anything, because I truly don't know. There were many things that had upset me today, but the latest – James and Saffi upstairs, doing Godric only knows what – was the one that still stuck in my mind.  
  
Al would have to throw a lot of punches to live up to his word.  
  
The sobs threaten to overtake me again and he rests his chin on top of my head and shushes me gently, rubbing my back until I calm down enough to ask.  
  
"What are you doing up?"  
  
"Couldn't sleep,” He says as he stretches his long legs out in front of him and lets me lean against him, “Tell me, how often do you sit out here blubbering by yourself at night?"  
  
A small smile slides onto my face and I nudge him in the arm.  
  
Humour has always been his way of dealing with things. I know he cares about me being upset. Probably more then he's letting on. But he would never pry into the reason, unlike James who would practically try to force it out of me.  
  
But I feel more natural around Albus. Like with Roxanne, the two of us had grown up together – seeing every side of each other that we possibly could and still loving each other for it – the good and the bad. He feels more like a brother to me than anything, and I know that he feels the same.  
  
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"  
  
I shake my head, and he lets out a defeated sigh, as I knew he would.  
  
"That's what I thought. I'm heading to the kitchens, at least come with me."  
  
That's when I notice the shimmering fabric of the invisibility cloak. Typical.  
  
But what else am I going to do? Crash James and Saffi's shag session and tell them exactly what I think of them? Hunt down Bash and apologise, when  _he's_  the one acting completely nuts? Haul myself upstairs just to cry myself to sleep? I think not...  
  
So I nod. At least it would give me a distraction until I became too tired to not have to think about anything anymore.  
  
Or anyone.  
  
**  
  
Bash apologised to me the next morning.  
  
I was stunned – I thought for sure that he wouldn’t so much as look at me, but he dragged himself next to me at breakfast with those damn puppy dog eyes that get me every time, claiming that he was being an idiot, and he was sorry, and that I’m the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to him.  
  
 _Good one, Knox._  
  
And next thing you know, we’re being exactly the type of couple that I used to love to loathe and snogging over our breakfast. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.  
  
By Friday, Scorpius still hasn’t returned to Hogwarts. And no matter how much I pester Ed, he claims that he has no more information to go on then I do.  
  
I’ve been avoiding James.  
  
And with no Quidditch it’s been surprisingly easy. I can’t bear to look at him, not now that I know what and  _who_  he’s been doing. The others might not notice who he slinks off with every night, but I sure as hell don’t miss it. The simple truth is that Saffi Kapur is an insufferable cow, and my opinion of James Potter has plummeted lower then low.  
  
And besides, with things going so well with Bash, I’m finally keeping to my plan of distancing myself from him. Even if that means severing the group even further then what it already is.  
  
And Roxanne is avoiding  _me_.  
  
I know this, because when I woke up this morning, she was already gone.  
  
When I walked into breakfast, hand and hand with Bash, she was just leaving.  
  
And now, in Herbology, she has just paired up with Louis instead of Pip or I.  
  
It's been like this all week, and knowing her stubbornness, she's bound to keep it up. It's upsetting to see her act this way, but I don't see what else I can do to fix it.  
  
I exchange a glance with Albus, and he shrugs. He doesn't mind about the partners, he has many friends in different Houses, and this gives him a chance to discuss tactics with the Ravenclaws Seeker, Asher Davies.  
  
But he knows something weird is going on.  
  
"Excellent work on your Snargaluff diagram, Lyra," Professor Longbottom says with a smile as he hands my work back to me, distracting me from my miserable thoughts. "You do have quite a knack for Herbology."  
  
The class has just ended and the students file out of the greenhouse, eager to begin their weekends. I linger behind. Roxanne and I usually always spare a few minutes after Herbology to catch up with Neville, who is a friend of both our parents.  
  
Though today, Roxanne is nowhere to be found.  
  
"Well, it helps when you have a well stocked greenhouse at home," I say casually as I return my pruning shears and gloves to the front of the class.  
  
"Indeed. How are your parents by the way? I haven't heard from your Mother in a few weeks."  
  
I try not to laugh at his tone. Neville is one of my Mums closest friends and the two of them always get rather anxious when they're out of contact for more than a week. I suppose I can't blame him for being concerned, really. She doesn't exactly have the most timid job in the world.  
  
Luckily, I know better than to worry about her.  
  
"They're in South America. It must be quite remote, we've only had the one letter this term. Nothing to worry about," I tease, and he chuckles.  
  
"I'm looking forward to seeing your Mum and Dad at Christmas. Luna makes the  _best_  Dirigible Plum pie and Hannah is dying for the recipe. And Rolf is breeding Kelpies I hear? Fascinating, really..."  
  
"Yeah, it's really great," I say, thinking of our small herd at home. The Kelpie population had been on the endangered species list for a few years now, and was quickly dying out due to their hairs being so popular for use in potions and wand cores. Because Kelpies were deemed so dangerous, hunters would kill them for these hairs instead of taking the risk to subdue them.  
  
It was nothing short of barbaric, and a practice that my parents fought against passionately.  
  
"I mean, everyone's so hung up on how 'deadly' they are, but once you build their trust Kelpies are really quite... lovely."  
  
Neville gives me an odd look and I smirk a little. I'm used to it by now - the  _look_. There's only so much that people are willing to learn about certain creatures. In fact the only other person who doesn't look at me like I'm a complete nut-case when I talk about my affection for animals like Kelpies and Occamies is Hagrid, who looks after Hogwarts own creatures and is a frequent visitor to our grounds at home.  
  
"Just like your Mum," Neville smiles fondly, though I shrug my shoulders, because really... I know that I’m anything but.  
  
There are only a few traits that I had inherited from my parents, really. My Mums blonde hair and blue eyes, and my Dads House, as he was once in Gryffindor. But while my parents were both quite sheltered while growing up, coming from small families, my brothers and I have had an entire network of wonderful people – and more than a few loons – surrounding us ever since we were born.  
  
My love of Quidditch is undoubtedly inherited from the Potters. Ginny Potter, especially, who I had grown up idolising and discussing the sport with every chance I got, ever since I learned how to talk. My sense of humour is largely influenced by George Weasley, who's joke workshop Roxy and I spent a large portion of our childhood running wild in. And my quick temper I get from my Aunt Margot, who takes care of our home and all the creatures in it whenever my parents are away.  
  
I'm an odd mix, I know. Part Scamander, part Lovegood... and part everything else.  
  
Neville, obviously sensing my discomfort, clears his throat softly.  
  
"So, how is everything with you?”  
  
I shrug at his attempt to change the subject. "Fine."  
  
I'm hardly going to tell Neville about all the drama going on lately. He may be a family friend, and my Head of House, but he's, you know... _old._  Still, he has an odd kind of grin on his face, like he knows something that I don’t.  
  
"Really? Nothing you want to tell me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay."  
  
I eye him suspiciously.  
  
 _He definitely knows something._  
  
"I at least thought you'd have clawed your way back to the Quidditch Pitch by now."  
  
It's been almost a week since we've had Quidditch practice but Pippa and I have snuck down to the Pitch more than a few times. Nothing could keep us grounded for that long. Not even our good for nothing Captain who cancelled practice for an entire week just so he could catch up on  _his own work._  
  
Not that he's been using his time very wisely.  
  
See what I mean by selfish?  
  
"Oh. I'm keeping myself busy.  
  
Neville gives me a knowing look. "So I've heard. Mr Knox, hmm?"  
  
 _So that's it._  
  
Immediately, I panic.  
  
"Oh Godric. Neville - don't tell Mum. I'm begging you,"  
  
Not that she wouldn't like me having a boyfriend. She'd love it I'm sure. But it felt so strange having my parents know something like that.  
  
He chuckles. "I would never. Just... look after yourself, alright?" I don’t know what he means, but if that was some sad attempt to give me love advice... I cringe at the thought.  
  
“And quit calling me Neville during school hours."  
  
I run from the greenhouse before he can embarrass me any further.  
  
 _See what I meant by the loons?_


	10. Missions and Maps

We couldn’t have asked for better weather for our first training session back on the pitch. With the frosts of winter fast approaching, these last, breezy days of autumn are a welcome affair. Though the air still holds its morning chill, the rain has held off so far and  the prospect of sun is peeking out from behind fluffy white clouds.  
  
A perfect day for Quidditch.  
  
If only my mood was as bright.  
  
Because while the majority of Hogwarts students are spending a perfectly lovely autumn day in Hogsmeade, shopping and drinking Butterbeer and whatever else it is that a  _normal_ person gets to do there, I’m stuck awkwardly between a best friend, who seemingly hates my guts, and a boy who I’m trying desperately to avoid.  
  
I’ll let you take the guess on where I’d rather be.  
  
Roxanne changes before Pippa and I – dutifully ignoring the pair of us as she has ever since our episode in the Great Hall. When we emerge from the locker rooms she has already mounted her broom and shot off somewhere high above the pitch, disappearing from view.  
  
Pippa and I exchange a wilted look. How James expects the two of us to work together like this, I have no idea.  
  
Not that I’m speaking to him anyway.  
  
And I mean, why should I? He’s only busy spending every spare minute he has shagging the biggest slag in the entire school. And he expects me to sit pretty and ignore it?  
  
 _I don’t think so, mate._  
  
The prat in question is emerging from the Quidditch office now, his dark hair messy and wild, while Lysander trails behind him, discussing some aspect of training. As the team gathers around, and Roxanne finally appears from the skies to join us, I try to keep from meeting his eyes, concentrating on _anything_  but him.  
  
Huh, the grass is  _extra_  green today.  
  
I think I’ll contemplate that instead.  
  
Chewing on my bottom lip, I listen half-heartedly as James splits up the team, putting into motion the play that he had shown me earlier in the week. Even when he announces that I’ll be working exclusively with him today, as I knew was going to happen, I keep my eyes on the grass below my feet and bite my tongue.  
  
My stomach twists unpleasantly as I think about the last conversation James and I had, after I had overheard him whispering with Saffi in the stairwell. I know it shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but the thought of them together makes me increasingly nauseas. What he sees in her, I will never know.  
  
I mean, aside from her obvious attractiveness and perfect body, she doesn't really have any  _depth_. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, coming from a family like hers where her mother writes absolute garbage for a living as the editor of Witch Weekly.  
  
The nausea in the pit of my stomach is different to anything I've felt before. Trying not to vomit on the pitch in front of me takes much more willpower then it should. As the others form up and ease into their drills, I stay put, swallowing down the bile that's rising in my throat.  
  
“Ly, are you  _listening?_ ” James is suddenly in front of me, the annoyance in his tone poorly masked. I look up, gazing at the stands behind his shoulder rather than at him directly, and give a sour smile.  
  
“Whatever you say,  _Captain_.”  
  
A low growl escapes him, but I ignore it as I mount my broom and shoot up above the pitch and away from at least one of my problems. My eyes close, letting my broom guide me as the cold autumn air fills my lungs – crisp and clean – and some of my worries begin to drip away, washed off by the cold snap and the exhilarating height of my ascent.  
  
A shiver runs through me as I ascend higher and higher – the zip-up jumper I'm wearing much too thin for the weather – but I don't mind it. The one thing I could rely on was that flying would calm my mind, as it always did. If only for a short while.  
  
James barks out a few instructions below me, the sound of his distant voice breaking my calm. His plan is clear enough – trail him as he moves across the pitch with the Quaffle, tracking his movements and familiarising myself with his tactics, while keeping watch over the rogue Bludgers that had been let loose. All while Louis plays his opposition, with Roxanne trailing him on their side.  
  
Easy _._  I had been watching James play Quidditch for the better part of my life. I know each and every strength, every weakness, and just about every way his body moves.  
  
He favours feinting to his left side – odd for a right handed player – and although he dodges right just as often, to keep the opposition guessing, it's not his strong side.  
  
His throw is strong enough to score from well outside the outskirts of the scoring area, which he has done on the odd occasion, to the amazement of the spectators.  
  
And he currently holds second place for the most amount of Porskoff Ploys successfully pulled off during a single Hogwarts game.  _Ever._  
  
His mum, Ginny, holds number one.  
  
We fall into training, and I'm thankfully distracted enough with trying to ward off Bludgers that I barely have to say two words to any of them. Flying high above the pitch, where I'm supposed to be taking note of James' position, I let myself drift more and more into my own chaotic thoughts.  
  
And the more I let these thoughts consume me, and the more questions I silently ask myself, the more angry I become. Until the rage is so wild that it devastates not only my mind, but makes my head throb violently with the intensity of it.  
  
 _How can James stand to be within five feet of Saffi Kapur? Why does Lydia Harlow hate me so much? Where has Roxanne been disappearing to every night? Why did Scorpius leave Hogwarts so suddenly?_  
  
Like thunder in a storm cloud, the questions brew in my mind, over and over with no clear answers. And it's only when I think my head is going to burst with the tension of it all that I stop and blink. Only now do I realise that I've drifted much higher than expected – higher than even the Bludgers are willing to go – where the air has changed from an icy breeze into wisps of fog and mist.  
  
I begin my descent, my hands clutched so tightly around my broom handle that my knuckles are white from the pressure. I know that I should be concentrating on training but it's just  _so damn hard_  with my mind in the mess that it is. My eyes skim over Roxy, who's doing the same with Louis as I'm supposed to be doing with James.  
  
And then suddenly, something inside me that has been so brittle and weak the past couple of days, snaps.  
  
And I just can't do it anymore.  
  
 _Any of it._  
  
I touch down on the ground harder then I had intended, willing the stinging in my eyes and the lump in my throat to subside. I don't know what's wrong, exactly, but I don't want to think about it any longer. I'm so tired of  _thinking_  so much.  
  
No-one has started yelling at me yet –  a good sign –  so I leave my broom carelessly lying on the dewy grass as I duck into the Quidditch office and shut the door behind me, pacing the miniscule box of a room for a minute or so, confident that no tears are going to fall before finally pausing behind the desk in front of the only small  window.  
  
My hands shake violently, and I take a few deep breaths to steady them. It doesn't work. So I settle for wrapping them around myself instead, trying to generate some warmth. Behind me, the door handle turns with a soft click and my head snaps up.  
  
I don't turn around. I already know who it is. The sigh he lets out as he steps into the room is enough to confirm it. The door clicks shut again before he speaks lowly.  
  
“It’s about Saffi, isn’t it?”  
  
I ignore the question. The walls are painted blue – like a bird’s egg. I concentrate on this, instead of the sound of her name on his lips. My hands are still shaking. I don’t want to have this conversation. In fact, I don’t want to have  _any_ sort of conversation with him.  
  
I don’t want to be in the same room as him, or the same square metre as him, or even in the same  _breathing space_  as him.  
  
And I want to tell him all of this, except my tongue won't do anything besides sit uselessly in my mouth and my brain can't even begin to form the right words. So instead, I finger the necklace that still hangs around my neck. The one that James threw in the Black Lake on Halloween. The one that he retrieved a week later. James lets out another tired sigh, and when he speaks his voice is surprisingly soft.  
  
“Just say the word and I’ll stop seeing her.”  
  
For the first time this week, I turn and let myself look at him. And I  _really_  look at him, seeing everything that I had previously missed. The smudges of black under his eyes, the tangles in his hair, the ashen change in his skin. And after the words leave his mouth he looks so desperate that something tweaks in my chest.  
  
“Why?” My mouth is dry when I speak. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know that whatever it is, I can't push it down for much longer.  
  
His forehead creases, as if I should already know the answer. But I don't, and I'm more confused than ever.  
  
“Because you mean more to me.”  
  
He doesn’t hesitate, and I know he means this, because I’ve known him long enough to recognise the signs when he’s lying. The shift of his jaw, the crease of his eyes, the way he messes up the back of his hair as he talks.  
  
But now, there’s none of that.  
  
And still, I don’t let myself believe him.  
  
“Didn’t seem that way the other night,” I spit, more shakily then I had intended. I’m being stupid, I know, but I can’t stop myself. I have to keep the walls up, and the defences strong. Even though something feels as if it's crumbling down inside of me, I  _have_  to hold it together.  
  
“Come on, you couldn’t stand the sight of me!” James argues, though not unkindly. He paces towards me, so slowly. “I had to send Al downstairs to make sure you were okay.”  
  
My arms drop to my side as I falter.  
  
“You... what?”  
  
 _So much for Albus’ midnight trek to the kitchens..._  
  
He stops a few paces from me and leans against the large desk, so close that I can smell the musky scent of his cologne. My head swims in utter confusion and the remnants of my pent-up anger and... something else entirely.  
  
And still, his eyes never leave mine.  
  
“Say it.” He says again, his voice barely louder than a breath.  
  
 _Say it_ , my heart echoes his words.  _Tell him to get rid of her. You know he’ll do it if you only say..._  
  
“There’s nothing to say.” I manage to choke out, tearing my eyes away from his and ignoring the voice screaming somewhere deep down inside of me.  
  
 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._  
  
A muscle flickers in his jaw. He straightens his back, standing tall, and his tone is sharp. “Then I guess we don’t have a problem here, do we?”  
  
I ignore the emotion behind his voice, and when I don’t reply he lets out a heavy breath and takes a step towards me. He puts a gentle hand on my arm, letting it slowly travel down to my fingers, which he links with his own before he pulls me across that last gap between us and draws me into him. The warmth of him prickles against my skin and I have to bite on my lip to clear the grey fog that drifts through my head. Because if I don't... If I don't fight it...  
  
“I hate it when you won’t look at me...”  
  
I wonder if he's as aware of my ragged breath as I am. His hand is still in mine, and amidst my internal suffering it feels like some kind of life raft. All I have to do is hold on. I swallow thickly, fighting every savage urge that my body is throwing at me to look up, to say those words, to abandon my  _goddamn pride_ and follow my instincts for once in my life.  
  
But I can’t.  
  
And I hate myself for it.  
  
I turn to leave but he doesn’t let go. He pulls me back, and this time I do look at him. And he's searching... searching for  _something_  in my face, my eyes. He delicately tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear, and his face lowers so close to mine that I can feel his breath trickling warmth across my lips.  
  
“We can’t keep going on like this, Lyra. Please say  _something_...”  
  
I know what he wants me to say, and I can't stop myself from wondering why. If he didn’t want to be with Saffi, then he wouldn’t – he certainly wouldn’t wait around for me to tell him what to do. So  _why_ is he doing just that?  
  
 _And why am I fighting not to give in to him..._  
  
His hand lingers in my hair, and I grit my teeth against the chills it sends racing through me. This is absurd, and I have to put an end to it.  
  
“James... you know my views on Kapur, but it’s none of my business who you choose to date, or... whatever the hell it is you’re doing.  _Do what you want_.” I say, my voice an icy mess of emotion as I try desperately to keep it from wavering. It's an easy card to play. Avoiding how I really feel. Denying the truth.  
  
I don't look at him again. _I can't_. And when I leave the small room, tearing my hand from his grip, it's the most difficult steps that I've ever had to take.  
  
My heart twists angrily in my chest, and I tell myself it’s because I hate Saffi Kapur, and that for all the grief she's caused me and my friends she doesn't deserve even one shred of happiness, and certainly not from James. Because the alternative is... well, it’s certainly not  _that_.  
  
Because James Potter is an arrogant, insufferable toe-rag and I absolutely  _do not..._  
  
Godric, I need to find Bash.  _And fast_. If only to remind myself of who it is that I truly want. James can shag the entire school for all I care, I  _will not_ let it ruin my life.  
  
 _Oh Merlin..._  
  
My teeth are throbbing painfully from being gritted so hard by the time I reach the castle doors. And I don’t care that James had planned our practice for the better part of the day. Our next match isn't for months – training can wait. Because Godric knows that I just  _can’t be there right now._  
  
I take in a steady breath, focusing on nothing other than trying to keep my shit together. Because if I start thinking too much I’m going to lose it – and I’m so close to the edge that it’s terrifying me.  
  
But on the edge of what, exactly, is the most terrifying thought of all.  
  
And the only thing that I know for sure is that James Sirius Potter is wreaking havoc on my mind.  
  
 _It has to stop._  
  
All but kicking my way through the main doors, too caught up in my own thoughts, I barely notice how deserted the castle is. Though with most of the students in Hogsmeade for the day, it's no surprise.  
  
 _Well, there goes my plan of looking for Bash._  
  
The sound of someone clearing their throat stops me, and it's only then that I survey my surroundings, immediately letting out a strangled sound of relief.  
  
Scorpius Malfoy walks towards me, his blonde hair pushed back off of his face and his face grim. Such an enormous sense of ease blankets over me that within seconds, I've forgotten all about our previous fight and my footsteps quicken until I'm in front of him, forcing him into a tight hug.  
  
A new kind of life raft.  
  
His muscles are rigid at first, but after a second he relaxes into it. Then after a few seconds more I finally falter, taking in a sharp breath before pulling back and saying lamely.  
  
“Hey…”  
  
Scorpius' lips flicker up softly.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
 _Good start._  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Immediately his face drops, and I know that it was the wrong thing to say.  
  
“Define  _okay_.”  
  
It’s in this moment that I see how  _not okay_  he truly is. His skin is so pale, even more so then usual. A sharp pang hits me in the gut, and my forehead creases in concern. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to fix it, comfort him, make it better.  
  
Seeing the question in my eyes, he grimaces and says. “My Grandma Cissy passed away.”  
  
 _One question answered._  
  
"Scorp... I’m so sorry.”  
  
My throat tightens, and I have to will away the tears that his fallen face is eliciting in me. This time, he steps into my arms willingly, and I know it's taking everything he has not to fall apart. I've heard him talk about his Grandma in the past. I know just how close they were.  
  
“Talk to me about something else," He says in my ear, his voice small and shaky. " _Anything else.”_  
  
I swallow thickly, searching for the words.  _Any words._  
  
“I’m sorry about what I said after the game.”  
  
Mentally slapping myself, I stifle a groan. It's probably not the subject he wanted, but he nods anyway. Apology accepted.  
  
“What happened during the game?" He asks as he ushers me over to take a seat with him on the lower steps of the Grand Staircase. "You seemed furious about whatever Pike had been saying."  
  
I bite on my tongue – _hard_  – concentrating on the pain rather than repeating the taunt. Because now is hardly the place and time. And besides that, knowing how Scorpius feels about James, well... It would hardly be the most appropriate conversation to have with my friend.  
  
"It doesn't matter," I finally admit, though Scorpius looks unconvinced. "Pike was just being an arse, as usual."  
  
Scorpius nods in understanding, letting his eyes trail over the patterns of the marble steps. He wrings his hands in front of him nervously.  _Thinking._  
  
“I may be his Captain, but that doesn’t mean I endorse, or even approve of his behaviour.”  
  
Grimacing slightly, I nod my head in acknowledgment. I feel like an idiot for even accusing Scorpius in the first place.  
  
“I know… I wasn’t thinking. Really.”  
  
He smiles softly, clapping me on the shoulder affectionately. Though the sadness in his eyes remains, and it twists the knife in my gut even further.  
  
 _Fix it, comfort him, make it better._  
  
“So you and Knox, huh?” He says before I've found any words to fill the silence. These words, however, lift the gloom a little. And I can't help but roll my eyes.  
  
Of course he would know about that already. It doesn't matter that he's been absent for the better part of a week, his mind is still sharp as a razor.  
  
“Uhh… yeah.” I say dumbly, and Scorpius shakes his head in mild amusement. His thin lips quirk up on one side.  
  
“I knew you still liked him.”  
  
“Do you want an award?”  
  
He chuckles low in his throat.  
  
“So you’re done with your plan to overthrow Potter, then?”  
  
The name sends a spike of uncertainness through me, chasing away all amusement. I clear my throat nervously and scan the room to make sure no unwanted eavesdroppers are listening in on the conversation. A meaningless task, with the castle so desolate anyway.  
  
“Yeah, it was pretty stupid…”  
  
Scorpius studies me for a moment, curious. Too damn clever for his own good.  
  
“Well, if you ever change your mind I may have a few tricks up my sleeve.”  
  
An ungraceful snort.  “Sometimes you worry me.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? It would be a pleasure to take him down a peg or two.”  
  
A nervous laugh escapes me, and Scorpius narrows his pale eyes. I shrink under the look.  
  
“Okay now I know there’s something weird going on – usually you would be jumping at the chance to trash talk Potter."  
  
I shrug meekly, there's nothing more I can do.  
  
 _Damn him and bloody perceptiveness. This is exactly what I don't need right now._  
  
“I don’t know, things have been kind of... different lately.”  
  
“Yeah? Was that before or after he singled you out in practice and tortured you? Because that seemed like a pretty typical Potter thing to do."  
  
Scorpius protests with a mumble as I panic and throw a hand over his mouth.  
  
“Shhhh. If he knew I told you anything about our training he’d kill me!”  
  
He rolls his eyes tiredly and I remove my hand, though more than a little sceptical.  
  
“See what I mean? He is  _not_  a nice guy, Lyra. Don’t be fooled.”  
  
Silence. I don't know what to tell him.  
  
Because  _yes_ , James Potter is a complete and utter jackass about ninety-five percent of the time, and I of all people know that. But the other five percent? The time where he lets in only a certain few to see who he truly is under all the fame, the rumours and the controversy that surrounds him.  
  
That's when he's... well...  
  
 “You’ve got to tell me one day, Scorp.” Is what I end up saying, and Scorpius furrows his fair eyebrows.  
  
“Tell you what?”  
  
“Why you hate him.”  
  
He doesn’t deny it this time, he only smiles sadly and ruffles my hair gently.  
  
 _Today is not that day._  
  
Instead, he simply pushes himself up and shoves his hands into his pockets. He seems a little brighter now, at least. And that lifts a weight off of something inside of me.  
  
“I’ll see you in class, Ly. Stay out of trouble, will you?”  
  
 _If only it were that easy._  
  
*  
  
It's official.  
  
Bash and I have  _officially_  become that couple that you love to hate.  
  
You know, the ones who hold hands in the corridors, and speak to each other in silly voices, and are generally just  _glued_ to each other at any possible moment.  
  
And despite the general shittiness that is my life right now, I'm glad for it. Because it proves that there really is no-one that I'd rather be with.  
  
 _No-one._  
  
And I'm happy.  
  
 _Truly._  
  
The afternoon sun drifts lower and lower outside the windows of the tower, covered by clouds of dark, swirling grey and black, threatening rain for the night. I'm currently wrapped up cosily on a sofa with Bash – his arm around my shoulders and a large bag of treats from Honeydukes' sweet shop in my lap, which I'm currently working my way through.  
  
I bite off the head of a chocolate frog, giggling as Bash nuzzles his nose into my neck playfully. We've been like this all afternoon –  _much_  too wrapped up in ourselves to notice much else. Albus makes a gagging sound from where he's stretched out in front of the fire in the common room, and I toss the remaining half of my chocolate frog at his head.  
  
He only grins happily and shoves it in his mouth.  
  
 _Ugh._  
  
James had the team practicing until late afternoon down on the pitch, while I lazed around in the common room, joined by Bash and Wade after they returned from Hogsmeade, bringing back my current meal of chocolates and confectionaries with them.  
  
 _Needless to say, they are_ totally _my favourite people right now._  
  
Pippa, Albus and Louis had trudged in not long ago – utterly exhausted and half-dead from training.  
  
I don't envy them one little bit.  
  
James and Lysander stalked past earlier, barely even glancing our way, and I haven't seen any signs of either of them since. I mean, not that I've been looking for one. I'm just glad that James hasn't thought up some new, evil torture to punish me for leaving practice.  
  
Though I'm starting to think that he won't.  
  
"So, what's everyone's plans for tonight?" Louis' voice pierces the group from where he's sitting cross-legged beside the fire, soaking up its warmth. Despite the sunny day we've had, tonight is threatening to be a cold one.  
  
"After today I need all the sleep I can get," Pippa yawns, stretching her arms over the arm of the sofa like a lazy cat. She had said nothing so far about my absence from practice this morning, but by the looks she's been giving me since she returned, I know it's only a matter of time.  
  
If only I could avoid it... but after the promise I made to Pippa, and Roxanne too –  _no more secrets_  – I know that I have to tell her.  
  
If only Roxy had lived up to the same advice.  
  
I had seen her earlier, storming through the common room and looking nothing short of livid. I tried to ignore it, telling myself that eventually she'll snap out of whatever's going on with her and things will go back to normal. But the more I try to ignore it, the more and more it plagues me.  
  
Because I know that now that we’re back at practice, it has to stop. There’s no way I can let this fight, or whatever it is, get in the way of what we've built within the team, and how we work together as Beaters.  
  
I  _need_ to find out where she keeps disappearing to.  
  
And unfortunately, that leaves me with only one option.  
  
As the evening drags on, between giggling with Bash and chattering with the others, I silently form a plan. Pippa staggers up to bed early, and when Bash and Wade head off to finish some work in the library, I linger for a few minutes.  
  
 Albus and Louis are too absorbed in a game of chess to notice my disappearance, though I toss the remainder of my Honeydukes bag at them to keep them occupied, and drift towards the stairwell.  
  
James isn’t in the common room, and on a Saturday night, that leaves any number of places he could be. Most of them, I don’t even want to think about, but I tip-toe up the staircase to the boys dormitory anyway on the off-chance that he might be there.  
  
Though, I don't get my hopes up.  
  
One knock, and then two. No answer. With an impatient huff, I push open the wooden door, finding the room completely empty.  
  
 _Just great_  – because I wanted nothing more than to spend my Saturday night traipsing around the castle, trying to find the one person I need for this whole, bloody plan to work.  
  
Unless, I didn't need him at all. If James has left the map here, I can look over it before anyone notices what I'm up to... and without having to speak to him.  
  
The door shuts behind me softly as I enter the room and tip-toe across the floor to the typically messy beds, illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of half a dozen lanterns. I already know which one is James', as I've been in this dormitory too many times to count.  
  
Retrieving stolen items, carrying out various pranks, making out with Bastian Knox...  
  
Like I said, many times.  
  
I stumble over something on the floor, swearing loudly. A pair of cherry-red high-heels lie sprawled at the foot of James' bed.  
  
 _Ugh, I’d recognise these designer heels anywhere._  
  
With a disgusted scoff I throw the shoes halfway across the room where they land with a clunk on the wooden floor, a mere second before the bathroom door swings open, and there stands James – dripping wet and naked, save for the towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
I can literally feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I flush red as a tomato.  
  
“Lyra, what the hell?”  
  
“Oh my god, I thought you weren’t here!”  
  
“Then what are you doing here?”  
  
“Looking for you!”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense!”  
  
A strangled kind of squeak escapes me as I grip the wood of his four-poster bed for support. For Godrics sake, does he have to be so... so...  
  
My eyes can't help but roam over his muscled arms, his bare chest, and the planes of his toned stomach.... still glistening wet from the shower...  
  
 _Merlin, why does that towel have to be so damn low..._  
  
“Just gimme a sec – and don’t look unless you want to be blinded by my unfathomable attractiveness.” He says, and I don't miss the amusement in his voice.  
  
Groaning low enough that only I can hear, I turn away and close my eyes for good measure.  
  
“You  _didn’t_  just say that.”  
  
A low chuckle, and the sound of him dressing. Every inch of my skin feels like it's on fire and I try to concentrate on lowering my body temperature, which has soared to dangerous heights. Maybe I shouldn't have come here. Maybe I should have just found a way to figure out where Roxanne is going on my own...  
  
James taps my shoulder lightly when he’s finished, and I ignore the somersaults in my stomach,  wasting no time in revealing the reason for my late night visit.  
  
“I need your help with something.”  
  
He hesitates – his eyes shifting uncomfortably. “Now?”  
  
“No, next week,” I return sarcastically, and he gives me a pointed look before sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling on a pair of clean, white socks. I take a tentative step forward.  
  
“It’s Roxy, she... she’s been acting strange. She disappears at all hours of the night, she won’t talk to me or Pip and I’m... I'm  _really_  worried about her.”  
  
He slips on a pair of sneakers, and when he doesn't say anything, I take another step and say firmly.  
  
“James. I  _know_  you know how to find her...”  
  
Finally, he stops and looks at me, biting on his bottom lip in clear hesitation. There's something there – something that he's not telling me. Quickly losing whatever shred of patience I previously had, I scoff.  
  
“Do you have somewhere else to be?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
And then I piece it all together. When has he ever not been busy on a Saturday night? I should have already known. He's always off doing something, or rather  _someone_...  
  
A thread of icy bitterness streaks through me, and I wave an irritated hand.“Okay, you know what? Forget about it.”  
  
I try to stomp towards the door, but James stops me before I get there.  
  
“Wait, this is more important," He says, his voice resigned. " You’re not the only one who’s worried about my cousin. She came by earlier asking to borrow the cloak. When I said no she almost hexed me.”  
  
I grimace. So that's why she looked so furious earlier...  
  
“So if she won’t tell us what’s going on, we find out ourselves," I say with a shrug of my shoulders, and he nods in agreement. We have little choice left. At least that's what I'm telling myself.  
  
“This is going to end badly, isn’t it?” James asks as he begins to rummage around in the drawers beside his bed. I stay put and cross my arms over my chest, waiting.  
  
No way am I going anywhere near that bed after I know who's been in there.  
  
“Ha!” He says as he finally finds what he’s looking for, spreading a large piece of parchment out over his bed covers. He pats at the spot beside him on the bed, motioning me to sit.  
  
I hesitate, waging an internal war before gritting my teeth and sitting anyway.  
  
 _Gross._  
  
“ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_ ,” He mumbles, oblivious to my inner struggle, before tapping his wand against the parchment and watching it transform before our eyes into a full-fledged map of Hogwarts.  
  
I’d seen the Marauders' Map before, yet it never failed to amaze me. Even now my eyes are drawn to the names ‘ _James Potter’_  and ‘ _Lyra Scamander’_ that are floating around in the Gryffindors boys dormitories. But we need to find another name.  
  
Trying to force myself to ignore the scent of freshly washed hair, and the way James muscles contract under his t-shirt, I glance over the expanse of the map. It took a while – a good few minutes of bumping heads and finger pointing – before we finally found it.  
  
 _Roxanne Weasley. Library. Restricted section._  
  
And she isn’t alone.  
  
“Logan Wood?” James spits distastefully as he reads the second name. “What the hell is Roxy doing with  _her_?”  
  
It’s a good question. Logan Wood is a Seventh Year, and Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. I’ve never seen Roxy so much as speak to her before. All of a sudden, a stream of very different questions begin to run through my mind.  
  
“This is _not_ acceptable!” James is ranting from beside me, completely bewildered. It’s no secret that he vehemently dislikes the girl, who is best friends with his ex-girlfriend, Nora Entwhistle. Rumour has it that Logan broke his nose after he and Nora broke up. I can’t say that he didn’t deserve it, if the rumours are true.  
  
Merlin knows that he hasn't done much to deny them.  
  
“She’s the best strategist in the castle, if Roxanne has told her  _anything_  about the team...”  
  
“She wouldn’t do that,” I say gently, attempting to calm the irrational mess in front of me. Even now he’s pulling at his dark hair anxiously, and I have to pry his arms away before he tears it all out.  
  
And then, he goes still.  
  
“What if she had no choice?”  
  
Inside, I know that the accusation sounds ridiculous, but Roxanne has never shut Pippa and I out before, and I'm running out of ideas as to why she could be doing this.  
  
“You think Wood could be blackmailing her somehow?”  
  
“We should find out.” James says firmly, throwing on a hooded jacket before pocketing the map and all but dragging me towards the door. I hadn’t seen him grab his invisibility cloak, but he drapes it over the two of us as we enter the hallway, and he has to stoop so the cloak covers us completely. With his hands on either side of me, he steers me down the staircase in front of him.  
  
We make it through the common room with no trouble. It's getting late, and even with an extended curfew on weekends, there's barely anyone around. It's only when we reach the outside corridors that we pause.  
  
Wade strolls towards us, alone. A pile of books under one arm and a pen spinning between his fingers. James pulls me back against the wall, one hand around my waist and the other on my shoulder as a silent command to keep quiet.  
  
We needn't worry, as Wade walks past, oblivious. James let's out the breath he's holding and loosens his grip a little. And then the footsteps stop.  
  
James stiffens, and I turn my head a fraction to see Wade surveying the corridor, his forehead creased as he glances around the supposedly empty space.  
  
And then his shoulders slump in recognition.  
  
“James, I know you’re there, man.”  
  
James swears as he shifts beside me and lets out an impatient sigh, removing the cloak just enough to bare the top half of us.  
  
Wade raises his eyebrows suggestively. "And  _where_  might you two be going this fine evening?"  
  
I inhale through my nose sharply. Godric, this is  _so_  not a good position to be caught in. Bash could walk around that corner any second...  
  
James holds a hand up in innocence.  
  
"Something's going on with Roxanne. We're trying to find out what, that's all."  
  
Wade lowers his eyebrows and thinks for a second. "I saw her in the library earlier – she looked pretty pissed off."  
  
“Do you want to come with us?" I ask unsurely, not really knowing what else to say. James gives me a half annoyed look, and I shrug.  
  
"On a secret undercover mission? Hell yeah," Wade says enthusiastically, and I can't help but grin.  
  
With a flick of his short wand, Wades books disappear into the air with a  _'pop'_  before he's ushered under the cloak. It's a tight fit, and as James adjusts the fabric over the three of us I’m overcome by the mixed smell of colognes coming off the two of them.  
  
“You can’t tell  _anyone_  what we’re doing,” James says sternly, though the dark-skinned boy simply gives him a toothy grin in return and holds a hand over his chest.  
  
“I solemnly swear.”  
  
We fill Wade in on the details as we continue on, our breath misting underneath the fabric as the air becomes colder with the more floors we descend . The two boys are so tall that the cloak doesn’t cover past my knees. Thankfully the corridors are deserted, and we only have to stop and crouch once as one of the Hufflepuff prefects ambles past, half-asleep.  
  
Wade, it seems, is rather excited about our covert mission and can barely keep still. James has already nudged him about half a dozen times to keep his voice down.  
  
"We can have code names," He's saying as we approach the library corridor. "I'll be Whiskey. Lyra, you're Lima. And James... sorry mate, you're Juliet."  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
"Phonetic alphabet, man. Get with the times."  
  
"I am  _not_ going to be Juliet."  
  
"Will you two shut it!" I hiss as we near the library doors, doing a quick sweep down the hall to make sure it's clear. Then James jiggles the handles of the double doors.  
  
They're locked.  
  
"What in Merlins name... I was just here." Wade says, exasperated, as he tries the handles for himself.  
  
"And Bash?" I ask, wondering if he would still be inside.  
  
Wade gives me a look. "He left earlier."  
  
I frown. I hadn't seen him at all, though maybe right now that's a good thing.  
  
James pulls his wand from his pocket, directing it at the handle where he utters a couple of different spells. After a minute, he lets out a huff of air.  
  
"They're magically locked. I can't open them."  
  
“What do we do?”  
  
“We wait,” He says solemnly, and I let out an unhappy groan.  
  
The thought of waiting around in the arctic-cold corridors for something to happen sounds less then appealing.  
  
   
  
“There’s two entrances to the library. Wade, check out the other and see if there’s a way.” James orders, though Wade looks uncertain.  
  
“And what if I get caught?” He says matter-of-factly, and James waves a dismissive hand.  
  
“You’re a prefect. Make something up.”  
  
Wade shuffles off into the darkness, muttering something under his breath as he goes. James ushers me over to the far wall where we sit and lean back against the stone. I have to shuffle close enough to him so that the cloak covers us both. James casts a heating charm, and I feel a little better.  
  
Though now that Wade has gone, I feel more than a little uncomfortable being left alone with James. He hasn't mentioned anything about our conversation earlier, and I'm glad. I'm certainly not going to be the one to bring it up.  
  
And I  _definitely_  wouldn't be here if I wasn't so worried about Roxanne...  
  
James takes the map from his pocket and unfolds it. I study it from beside him. Roxanne and Logans names are still in the library, and I wonder if they were the ones who had locked the door. James unfolds another piece of the parchment, revealing another floor. In the boys dormitories I can clearly see the name  _‘Saffi Kapur’_ and I’ve no doubt who she’s looking for.  
  
The thought makes my skin crawl.  
  
 _Why didn't I just say it?_  
  
“Sorry I ruined your date,” I offer lamely. James tilts his chin and gives me a pointed look, his eyebrows creased together in total disbelief.  
  
“Fine, I’m not sorry,” I admit under his scrutiny, and he lets out a throaty laugh, finally folding up the map and stowing it in a pocket.  
  
“Well, I’m just glad you’ve stopped ignoring me.”  
  
 _It's not like I have a choice._  
  
I don't say anything – I only tuck my knees in towards my chest and wrap my arms around them. The heating charm had warded off most of the chill, but every now and then a drafty blast of air would blow down the corridor towards us.  
  
"Hey, little salamander..." James says softly after a while, putting a knuckle under my chin to lift it. I look at him, reluctantly, and I can see the light spattering of freckles over his nose... the green flecked through his amber eyes...  
  
"No matter what happens between us, I don't want you to ever feel like you have to leave training like you did today. I know how important Quidditch is to you... I would never want to ruin that..."  
  
I watch him, wide-eyed.  
  
"James..."  
  
I purse my lips tight to hide the fact that my breathing is severely uneven.  My heartbeat hammers in my chest, and I wonder if he can hear it. I don't understand the feelings that are coursing through me. I don't  _want_  to understand them...  
  
I know he's right, of course. Quidditch has always been my one true love, and if I can't even do that without completely breaking down then I don't know what else I have. Above all, I have to put Quidditch first.  
  
Even if the way James looks at me sends tiny sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. Even if being near him makes me feel fragile and confused.  
  
I have to ignore all of that.  
  
Push it far, far away.  
  
We sit in silence for a while longer, waiting for something –  _anything_  – to happen. The only sound is our breathing – mine slowing more and more until it finally reaches a comfortable pace. I don't know if it's been a minute or an hour when James speaks again.  
  
“You know, Bash came to me a while ago,” He says quietly, his voice piercing the stillness of the corridor. “He asked me… not to do anything that would jeopardise your relationship. That’s why I didn’t tell you about him and Woodward. I didn’t want him to think that…”  
  
He falters, and I look at him, confused.  
  
"What would he think?"  
  
My voice is so quiet that I'm not sure if he heard it, but he takes my hand with his – interlocking our fingers – and looks at me.  
  
“That I–"  
  
The click of a lock stops him and my head snaps up. I freeze, my hand clutching James’ tightly, as if that would stop me from moving,  _breathing_ , giving away our position.  
  
Because of who has cracked open the doors of the library, just enough to slip through.  
  
 _Logan Wood._  
  
James tenses beside me, and I put a second hand on his, gripping even tighter to stop him from hexing the girl. I know why he thinks Roxy is meeting with Logan, but I have my doubts. Roxanne is not the type of girl to get herself stuck in a situation like that.  
  
Logan looks up and down the corridor, her russet hair falling over her shoulders as she checks that it’s clear, before she strolls right past us and disappears into the darkness. After waiting a minute or so, James checks the door again. It's unlocked.  
  
"Do you think it's worth investigating?" I ask, and I can see him weighing the question in his mind.  
  
Until a shuffle startles us and we both jump at the noise. It's only Wade, creeping down the corridor towards us.  
  
"Roxanne left, about two minutes ago. Heading towards the Tower," He says, almost out of breath. I wonder if he ran all the way back here.  
  
James turns to me, a new sense of purpose glazing his hazel eyes.  
  
"We need a new plan."  
  



End file.
